


Savior

by MzPip



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: 28/28 Chapters, Adult Content, Completed, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-10 03:18:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 28
Words: 78,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2008926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MzPip/pseuds/MzPip
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By saving his friend, Archer may end up losing him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters are property of Paramount Pictures. No copyright infringement intended. It's your sandbox, fellas -- I'm just playing in it for a while.
> 
> Author's note: This is a reworking of the original novel I wrote several years ago. Call it the "director's cut". I haven't changed a great deal but I have corrected some internal inconsistencies and added a few scenes I felt would help enrich the story.

"Are you absolutely sure?" Archer demanded.

Hoshi nodded. "It's the only human bio-sign in the city. Actually, it's the only human bio-sign on the whole Tasumi planet."

"And the information from the Vulcan Security Directorate indicated that the Tasumi were on the Malzat's itinerary," Reed reminded them.

Archer nodded. "Good. Can we beam him up?"

Subcommander T'Pol shook her head. "Not possible. A force field is in place over his location."

"If it's over the city, perhaps there's a weak spot we can punch through."

"It is not over the city, Captain. It is over the dwelling where the biosign registers. And it is a very powerful one. I doubt even Vulcan phase weapons could pierce it."

Archer stared. "Are you kidding? Over one house?"

"I would not 'kid' about something like this," T'Pol responded austerely.

Archer looked over her shoulder, confirming the readings. "Hoshi," he asked, "can we get a closer look at that place?"

The pretty ensign nodded. "Not a problem, sir. I'll use one of the surveillance satellites that the Taasuu faction has over the city."

"They've achieved warp flight and yet are still dealing with factionalism," Reed marvelled.

"It is not a typical societal norm," T'Pol agreed. "And it may complicate matters."

 _Right,_ Archer thought. _Like matters aren't already complicated enough as is._

"Or simplify them," said Reed. "Play both sides against the middle."

"We'll worry about that when the time comes," Archer said. He watched as Hoshi's clever fingers danced across her board. The image on the viewscreen changed; first from the planet to orbit to an aerial view of one of the major cities, and then zoomed into a sprawling estate.

"This is where he is," she said.

Archer looked at the palatial dwelling, surrounded by high walls and protected by what appeared to be at least a platoon of heavily armed foot soldiers.

"Let's find out everything we can," he said. "I want to know who lives here, what they do, and what possible reason they could have for holding him. Also, see if we can get any more information on what that Malzat ship was up to while they were here." He looked at the sprawling estate again. _Trip_ , he thought, _what have you gotten yourself into this time?_

****

Subcommander T'Pol stared intently out of the Captain's ready room window.

Behind her, she could hear him exhale, once. There was a click, and she knew he had finished perusing her report. It made for uncomfortable reading, to say the least, and she braced herself for the inevitable emotional explosion.

She was in for a surprise; his reaction was quiet and controlled. There were times when she was certain that Jonathan Archer made a career out of behaving contrary to her expectations.

"You are, of course, certain that is accurate," he said.

"Of course," she replied.

He sighed, and rubbed his face. "All right. How do we go about getting him out? Obviously, a beam-out isn't possible. A sneak commando-style raid?"

She shook her head. "The odds of success are not high. And even if we were able to retrieve him, we would not only be set upon by the Volashan faction, but I am certain that the others would forget their various quarrels and join in once it was learned what we had done. It would be considered not only a monstrous insult to the Volashans and their allies, but also to be meddling in the planet's internal affairs. The Tasumi are extremely sensitive about such interference, perceived or otherwise. I doubt Enterprise would survive the ensuing conflict."

"You're not suggesting we leave him there, are you?" The Captain's voice was quiet, but an ominous edge underlay that quiet.

 _I would never suggest that. Not for any member of Enterprise._ But to express these thoughts would be to betray her emotions. She was grieved that he would still think that she would regard a fellow crew member with so little regard. But then, he was upset and not thinking rationally. She decided to ignore his last comment; it would do no good to pursue his emotional and irrational response. Instead, it would be best to focus on the next logical step.

"We know where he is," she said. "He is unharmed—relatively speaking," she added at the look she received. "It is doubtful that state of affairs will change. That gives us time. I suggest that we familiarize ourselves with the laws and cultural norms of this society as they pertain to his situation. I am certain that with the correct information, we will find a solution. But patience will be required."

"We've come this far," Archer said. "You're right. Makes no sense to rush in and screw things up."

She nodded. "The Vulcan Security Directorate has had operatives working here for some time. I have requested all their reports, and have been assured that I will receive them soon. Ensign Sato and Lieutenant Reed are working on accessing the planet's various databases, and it is only a matter of time before they are successful. Once we have all the necessary intelligence, we will then be able to formulate a reasoned plan. But," she added, "this will all take time."

"It's all right," Archer replied grimly. "We're not going anywhere."


	2. Two

"Are you sure you're ready, Captain?"

Archer nodded, and adjusted the lavish, richly embroidered silk robes he was now wearing. Gold gleamed on both his wrists, and a heavily jewelled pendant hung around his neck. His entire appearance was calculated to suggest wealth, power and certain arrogance. He had spent the last week immersing himself in Tasumi customs, and it was now or never.

"I'd feel a great deal better if you would allow me to accompany you," Reed fretted. "Going in there alone, with no backup..."

"You heard T'Pol," Archer said. "Doing that would suggest weakness in their eyes. I can't afford to be seen that way. I have to keep them on the defensive, or this isn't going to work."

Reed nodded. "I know, sir. It's just that—"

"We have to play this game by their rules, Malcolm. Believe me, I wish we didn't."

The launch bay doors opened, and T'Pol and Hoshi entered. Despite herself, Hoshi's eyes widened, and she stopped.

"So," Archer asked lightly, "I take it you like my outfit?"

"Wow," was her response. "You look like you're wearing a year's salary on your back, Captain."

"That's the whole idea, Hoshi. Glad it's working."

T'Pol, naturally, had no time for such niceties. She handed Archer a padd.

"Here is all of the relevant paperwork."

He took the padd, studied it. "Very good," he said approvingly. "Looks like the real thing."

"It is the real thing," Hoshi said. "Almost."

"It should satisfy your hosts," Reed said.

"Well, if it doesn't, I'll just have to bluff my way out."

"Your initial gifts of approach have been sent and received," Hoshi said. "And the compensation gifts are aboard the shuttle."

"Right," said Reed. He handed Archer another padd. "You're also the proud owner of a brand-new bank account in the city. There's more than enough money in this account to repay your hosts. It's one of several accounts scattered around the planet. Only, of course, it looks like you've had these accounts for years."

"The only human mercenary to make it out this far," Hoshi said. "Private army and all."

"And the information?"

"Lieutenant Reed and I have planted a number of items in the various databases that should pique their interest. Once they find them, that is."

"You haven't hidden them too deeply, have you?"

Hoshi shook her head. "Subcommander T'Pol's encryption is quite elegant, Captain. It all will be difficult enough to get, so that they don't suspect anything, but just easy enough to break so that they will be able to read the information."

"And what they do read should give them pause for thought," Reed added.

"We didn't go into specifics," Hoshi said. "We thought that less is more. More disturbing that way."

"Indeed," Reed said. "But what they will learn is that you are — begging your pardon, Captain  — an arrogant bastard who doesn't take kindly to losing. Anything." He smiled. "You don't like being crossed. And you always get what you want. You have the money and the manpower to make sure you do. And you hate to lose. So you never have. Whatever it takes, you always win."

"You're actually pretty scary, sir," Hoshi added. "I wouldn't want to make you angry."

"Thanks," Archer replied. "I'll try to live up to my advance publicity."

"You're going to have to, sir," Reed said soberly. "These people play for keeps."

"And so do I," Archer said. "I'm an arrogant bastard, remember?"

Reed smiled, but it was strained. "My best advice would be to get in and out as quickly as possible."

"I would like to," Archer said. "But I don't think it will play out that way."

He put a reassuring hand on Reed's shoulder. "Hey," he said, lightly. "You're talking to the only man who's ever escaped from Rura Penthe, remember?"

He looked over at Hoshi and T'Pol. "Time to get this show on the road," he said. "Hoshi, Malcolm —T'Pol. However this turns out, I want to say thank you. Your work has been excellent."

"When I was a kid, I used to pretend at playing espionage games," Reed said, "Never thought I'd have the chance to try the real thing."

Hoshi passed a UT over. Archer held it in his hands. "Kind of odd that I have to use one of these," he said.

"Not really," said Reed. "An arrogant bastard wouldn't feel the need to learn anyone else's language, would he?"

Archer nodded. "Right."

"I'll be monitoring all channels," Hoshi told him. "If you need help -- "

"I wouldn't be much of a mercenary if I yelled for help all the time, would I?" Archer said gently. "But thanks anyhow, Hoshi."

"They'll already be worried and on the defensive, based on everything that they currently know," said Reed, still averse to sending the Captain on his way. "From their point of view, they've committed what is at best, a serious error, and at worst, broken the law. Rather badly. It would be for the best if you can attempt to keep them off-balance at all times."

"I intend to," Archer said grimly. "All right," he added. "They've had enough time to mull things over. I think it's time that arrogant bastard, Jonathan Archer, makes his appearance."

Reed and Hoshi nodded. "Good luck, sir," his tactical officer said. "Hurry back," Hoshi added. Then, reluctantly, they took their leave. Subcommander T'Pol remained behind.

"Any last minute words of advice?" Archer asked casually. He wanted to forestall any further arguments on her part. Not that he had any intention of allowing her to accompany him, but she had tried her best to first persuade him that she and she alone should retrieve Trip. She had first argued that her experience as a Vulcan operative gave her an advantage. When Archer pointed out that breaking in and stealing the engineer would most likely fail, she then suggested that she go downplanet, alone, to retrieve him. It was not until he reminded her what would likely transpire that she finally, reluctantly, gave up that idea. 

“Captain, I still think I should accompany you in the guise of your personal assistant.”

He shook his head. “No. Too many things could go wrong. I won't risk you, too.”

“But Captain -- “

He held up his hand. “And besides, if things do go wrong, I'll need you up here to figure out how to get me back as well as Trip. OK?”

She exhaled, once. “Very well. That is almost logical.”

He smiled. “That's almost a compliment. Anything else?”

"Remember, Captain — a lie is most effective when it is comprised of mostly the truth."

He smiled slightly. I thought Vulcans didn't lie. But all he said was, "Thanks. I will." She was silent. He smiled. "No reams of advice? Rather un-Vulcan of you, Subcommander."

"You have prepared yourself well. The odds are you will succeed. But..." she hesitated.

"But?" Archer prompted.

She looked uncomfortable. "You will succeed," she repeated, "as long as you are willing to say — and do — things that you would not normally. Things that you will find distasteful, to say the least. In all likelihood, you will be forced to take the actions we have discussed. Captain — if you are to succeed, there must be no doubt in the Tasumi's minds that you are sincere in this behaviour."

"Are you asking me whether I'm prepared for this?"

"Are you?"

"If I have to, I will. I won't like it, and naturally, I'm hoping it won't come to that. But whatever it takes, T'Pol. Whatever it takes."

"Unfortunately, it is likely your hopes in this regard are doomed to disappointment."

"Then I'll cross that bridge when I come to it." She still looked uncertain.

"I've got a little something from Phlox," he said. "If I need to use it, I will."

"It would be better if you could avoid being seen to be taking any kind of medication," T'Pol replied. Nevertheless, she now looked relieved — in a restrained Vulcan fashion, of course.

"Like you said," Archer told her. "I'm prepared."

“And Commander Tucker?”

Archer frowned slightly. “I hope he'll understand and be able to play along. But according to their laws, he won't have a choice, will he?”

She seemed to wince ever so slightly. “Unfortunately, you are correct.”

“Believe me, Subcommander, I hope we can exit with a minimum of fuss. But whatever I have to do, I will. I will not leave Trip there any longer than I have to.”

"Very well, Captain."

He nodded, and turned to the newly painted shuttlepod, which was now no longer recognizable as a Starfleet craft. It had been repainted red and black, and both sides were emblazoned with a huge crest. 

Archer had been grimly amused to learned that it was actually rooted in historical reality. There was a branch of the Archer family in Europe that had a family crest. Reed, displaying a heretofore unknown knowledge of heraldry, and drawing from information on the Tasumi database, had tweaked it somewhat so it now proclaimed to his hosts that this was a proud man, a man of influence and power, one who came from a long line of similarly proud and powerful individuals. A man whom it would be far, far better to count as friend than as enemy.

"Oh, and Captain?" He half-turned, to find the Vulcan standing at the doors.

"Good luck."

“I thought Vulcans didn't believe in luck.”

“They don't.”

She exited, leaving Jonathan Archer staring after her. Would wonders never cease? He then turned his attention back to the matters at hand. Well, ready or not — here I come.

****

Al-Saahn deya Volasha, House Master to Lord and Lady Volasha nervously straightened his simple black robes, making certain that the House insignia lay properly against his chest, and looked around once more to ensure that all was in order. It was his responsibility to make certain that things appeared to be running smoothly, even when, as was now, all was in chaos. His Master and Mistress had been closer to panic than he had ever seen them (even during the disastrous Ros'linga campaign) when they had received the first message from their expected visitor.

Subsequent messages assuring them that retribution was not being sought had served to calm them, but only slightly. As a result, the last few days had been reduced to a frenzied blur of activity. Orders were given, arrangements made, decorations fashioned, food and drink prepared, all with the hope that the splendour and magnitude of his reception would appease their guest. Right now, his Master and Mistress were waiting apprehensively for this man —this Jonathan Archer — to arrive.

As was only fitting for a one of his position and power, he had not chosen to inform them of the time of his arrival, forcing Al-Saahn and his retinue to scurry about, making certain that no matter when the great man arrived, all would be in order. They were, and Al-Saahn was justifiably proud of the results. No fault could possibly be found with his work, and this was of paramount importance if they wished to emerge from this with their skins intact. Since Al-Saahn was very fond of his, he intended to ensure that nothing would go wrong.

The faint whine of the approaching craft's engines grew louder. Al-Saahn looked about once more. An entire platoon of the Lord's best guards, all wearing their finest stood in formation. Behind them stood the household servants, all wearing their best livery. The litter, with four of the Lord's champion footmen, which would take the honoured guest to the main house sat, waiting, its golden curtains blowing slightly in the soft, scented breeze.

He touched the com bracelet on his wrist. "My Master," he said in the correct, humble tone, "he approaches."

"Excellent. All is ready?"

"Yes, my master."

"Make certain all goes properly," his Master warned, "else you will smart for it." Al-Saahn was offended. It had been years since he had made an error of any sort, and many more since then that he had made one worthy of reprimand. It was a mark of how seriously unsettled his Master was that he would make a remark like that at all. _That's what happens when you buy off-planet,_ he thought, but naturally did not express such sentiments aloud. Instead, he replied, "But of course, Master. There will be no cause for offence."

A grunt was his only answer, and the communication was terminated. Al-Saahn allowed himself the luxury of a sigh. The sooner their guest was satisfied and gone, the happier he, at least, would be. Oh, the Mistress (and to a lesser extent, the Master) would be disappointed for a time, but disappointment passes. Better to be discontented and alive than satisfied and dead. Or something to that effect, he amended, realizing that death tended to put an end to things like happiness and its opposite number.

Unfortunately, it was not likely that their guest would be departing soon. Protocol (and a fear of angering him further) required that all manner of feasting and entertainments were to be provided. He ran everything over in his mind, and was satisfied that all was in place, and nothing would be found wanting.

A wind from the engines of the approaching craft whipped his robes up around him, causing him to step back a pace. He was gratified to note that the rest of the retinue, like a well-oiled machine, did so as well. No, there would be nothing to criticize here.

The red and black ship, emblazoned with its proud family crest, glided to a landing. There was a moment's worth of waiting, and then the hatch opened.

Time to face the dragon, Al-Saahn thought, and stepped forward.

****

Lord Maya de Volasha turned to his beloved, his spouse, the Lady Vala de Volasha. "He approaches."

She swallowed nervously, and her hand went up to her black tresses. "Am I acceptable?"

He looked down into the sweet face looking up at him, and smiled tenderly. After 20 years, he still adored her, his bride, his beautiful, his precious. "You are exquisite," he said, speaking the complete and utter truth. "Even one such as he will find you breath-taking."

She smiled tremulously. "Thank you, my love." She took one strong hand between hers, and looked up into his deep dark eyes, eyes that had held her enthralled over the years. "Do you think he will be very angry?" She could not bear the idea of any harm coming to her husband. "I am willing -" she began.

"No." He cut her off abruptly. "That will not be necessary. Besides, he knows. It was not deliberate. It was an honest mistake, made by an adoring husband who only wished to please his wife."

"And please me you did," she said. "But had I known --"

"But we did not," her husband reminded her. "We were defrauded. Annoying, and regrettable. We will make all necessary amends, give him what he has come for, and all will be well between us."

"Promise?"

"I promise," he said tenderly. "And when this is done, we shall go somewhere together for a time. And I will attempt to make amends to you for your loss."

Her face lit up, and he would gladly have gone through a thousand times the anxiety he had suffered to see that expression. "Together?" she asked. "Oh, beloved, that will make everything worthwhile."

He smiled, and gently kissed her. A discreet cough interrupted them. It was Al-Saahn. "Pardon," he said, "but our guest has arrived."

****

Archer snapped his fingers imperiously. Immediately, two of the servants behind him hurried forth. Both were laden with expensive gifts. Archer turned to the slight, dark-haired man who was the Lord of this house. "For the oh-so-charming mistress of this household," he said to Lord Volasha. "For my part, I congratulate you, sir, on the good fortune that has given you such a delightful spouse." He looked over at the tiny woman who stood beside the lord. The Lady was pretty enough, he supposed, if he were looking at the whole situation dispassionately. He smiled at her, and bowed. It was a slight one, calculated to show a certain, wary courtesy, but no more than that.

"And I and my lady thank you, sir," Lord Maya replied with an equally cautious bow. _Two bull moose_ , Archer thought. The trick would be to make sure that he was the alpha male when all was said and done.

"Welcome to our humble home, good sir," the Lady replied. "We have prepared —"

Archer held up a hand. "I am certain, Lady Vala, that you have all manner of marvelous entertainments for me," he said. He sounded as if it were only to be expected. "And I shall of course be pleased to sample them, all in due time," he added. "But I have come a long way, and I fear my patience is running somewhat thin. I am sure your spouse, being a man of the world, understands." And he gave the lord a look that said, very plainly, that Jonathan Archer did not have great stores of patience to begin with.

"Of course," Lord Maya said. He traded a look with his wife which was, Archer was pleased to note, definitely a nervous one. "If you will come this way, ah — ?"

"You may call me Captain, if you wish," said Archer. He added, by way of explanation, "A nickname given to me by my troops. It amuses me. I hope you will indulge that amusement." The best lies are the ones that are almost true.

"But of course — Captain. This way, if you will."

Archer was led from the lavish foyer into an equally lush room decorated with silken hangings and richly woven tapestries. A thick, plush carpet covered the floor. Three throne-like chairs sat along one wall. Archer took the largest and most important as if it were a matter of course, and sat, flanked on either side by his hosts. He leaned back, looking as if he didn't have a care in the world.

Lady Vala clapped her hands. A liveried servant appeared, bearing a tray with drinks, which were handed all around.

The Lord raised his glass. "To friendship," he proposed. "And an end to regrettable misunderstandings."

"Indeed," said Archer. He leaned over, removed the glass from the man's hand, and gave him his own drink in return. He smiled at the astonished look on Maya's face. "A man in my position cannot afford to be lackadaisical," he said, "even when among friends." He accented the last word with a touch of irony, and he was pleased to see the look of discomfort on the other man's face.

"My good Captain," the lord protested, "Surely you don't think —"

"Of course not," Archer said, with a hard, glittering smile. "Drink up."

Slowly, Maya did. Archer put his own glass down untouched. "I don't take chances," he said pleasantly.

"Upon my honour and that of my House," Maya said hoarsely, "I promise you that you have nothing to fear from us."

"I'm sure I don't," Archer replied, still pleasantly. His tone insinuated that it would take a great more than the de Volashas to cause him concern. "Still, it is wise to practice prudence. It would be — unfortunate — if my troops were forced to pay you — and your charming spouse," this with a lecherous glance at the lady, "a visit. They can be somewhat, ah, over-enthusiastic, and they are so very loyal, it takes little to upset them." _Thank God Forrest isn't here,_ he thought with wry amusement. _He'd have a fit._

The other man blanched. Archer realized that he must have read the reports and other information Hoshi and Malcolm had planted. Evidently, he was a fearsome character. I'll have to remember that. "There will be time for food and drink later," he told Maya, the edge in his voice evident. "Once I am satisfied that our business is completed to our – ah — mutual satisfaction. To that end, I have this," and he negligently pulled out the padd T'Pol had given him, tossed it to Maya. "You'll see everything is in order."

"Captain," Lady Vala protested, "that is hardly necessary."

"As much as it grieves me to contradict such a charming lady," Archer said with impatient gallantry, "I fear that I must. Your husband will no doubt tell you that it is important that all the details, as it were, are properly formalized."

"Yes," the lord, replied. "It appears —" Archer stared coldly at him, and he immediately backed down, "Yes," he repeated nervously, "This most certainly is in order." And he gave the padd back to Archer.

"Good," said Archer. He took out another padd, punched in something, and pressed his thumb against it. This, too, he tossed to Maya. "I believe that is the price you paid," he said carelessly. "I have calculated the costs involved in housing and food, and added a little something on top. For all of your annoyances."

Maya looked pained. "Captain, it is not necessary —"

"Oh, but it is," Archer interposed smoothly. "Jonathan Archer always pays his debts."

Maya swallowed. "Of course." He reached over, took the padd from Archer's hand. "Captain, this is most generous."

Archer waved a hand in dismissal. "Think nothing of it." His attitude suggested that throwing around large sums of money was something he was accustomed to.

"You must believe us, Captain," Lady Vala said. "We honestly thought that —"

"— but of course you did," Archer finished genially. "It was an honest error. Otherwise, I would not be having such a nice, informal visit with you." He smiled, much like a shark would. What he left unsaid was that had he suspected otherwise, other action would have been taken. Very unpleasant action.

He was pleased to note that his hosts got the point. "You were deceived by an unscrupulous dealer," he continued. "But trust me," and he smiled that chilling, shark-like smile again, "he won't cheat anyone else again. Ever."

Lord Maya smiled. It was a pretty sickly effort, but Archer gave him points for trying. "Really?"

Archer shrugged. "Space travel can be so very dangerous," he said casually, "don't you agree?"

"Oh, yes, very much so," Lady Vala said hastily.

"It's good to know that we won't have to worry about being defrauded again," her husband added. But he didn't look particularly pleased.

Archer uncrossed his legs, sat up straight. "Yes. Well," he said, "if you are satisfied as to my bona fides, my Lord? And Lady?"

“But of course, Captain.” Maya clapped his hands. Al-Saahn appeared, as if by magic. "My Master?"

"Are we ready?"

"Any time my Master wishes." At a nod from Maya, the House Master turned and clapped his hands.

The door opened, and two burly guards entered. Walking between them was another human male. His eyes were downcast, and he was wearing nothing aside from a golden collar and bracelets on his wrists and ankles.

It was Trip.


	3. Three

Archer had to restrain himself from leaping to his feet. Instead, he forced himself to lean back and coolly survey the scene, as Trip and his guards approached.

They stopped, and one of the guards put his hand on Trip's shoulder, pressed.

Immediately, the younger man knelt, crossed his hands behind his back, and bowed his head. At no time had he looked up. Archer doubted that Trip was even aware of who was sitting in front of him.

"As you can see —" Lord Maya began.

Archer cut him off. "I have yet to see anything," he declared imperiously. At the sound of his voice, Trip started very slightly, but remained kneeling submissively before him. Archer stood.

"That's right, pet," he said. His voice was soft and gentle; a very different tone from that he used when speaking to his hosts. The Volashas started and exchanged worried looks; this pleased Archer immensely. "Your master has come to take you home."

Trip did not reply. Archer raised a brow in surprise. Eager to curry favour, Lady Vala said, "He was rather talkative when he first arrived. As you can see, we have trained him to be otherwise."

Archer didn't want to think about what they had done to Trip in order to get these results. He was afraid that if he knew the answer, he would not be responsible for his actions. And that would not help get Trip out of here. "A pity," he replied mildly. "I enjoyed my chatterbox."

Lady Vala looked distinctly unsettled. Good, he thought savagely. He was angrier than he could ever remember. He was no Vulcan, able to turn his emotions on and off as if they flowed from a spigot, but at least he could use that anger to his own ends. He would make this pair as uncomfortable as he could before he spirited Trip out of this house of horrors.

He put a gentle hand on Trip's shoulder. The engineer started, very slightly, and that only deepened Archer's ire. What have they done to you? He was only afraid of what he himself might have to do in order to carry out this charade. What would that do to Trip? "On your feet, pet," he said tenderly. "Let me look at you."

Trip immediately obeyed. He stood, eyes still downcast, while Archer looked him up and down. He was not pleased with what he saw. "He's lost weight," he said abruptly to Lord Maya. Then, in a gentler tone to Trip: "Been upset, have you, pet?"

He looked at his host and hostess, hazel eyes glinting with anger. "Did no one in this household of yours notice he was not eating? Do you have an idiot for a House Master?"

"Truly," Lady Vala began, I don't know how this could have happened. I will speak to Al-Saahn —"

"What is THIS?!!!" Archer roared at the top of his lungs, causing everyone to jump.

"Captain?" Lord Maya asked. Archer reached over, hauled the man to his feet.

"This!" he snarled, pointing to a livid bruise on Trip's side, while holding his host by the scruff of his neck. "Is this what you call good treatment?" he demanded. "You assured me that he had been unharmed!"

"Captain — please," the Lord said, his normally deep voice a frightened squeak.

"Explain," Archer ordered.

"One of the household guards was too rough in the handling of him," his host said hurriedly. "You can be assured he has been disciplined. Severely," he added.

Slowly, Archer released him from his grip. "Very well," he said grudgingly. He then smiled, straightened the man's robe and patted him on the cheek. I'm behaving like someone out of the "Godfather", he thought with sour amusement.

Lord Maya swallowed, and a look of pure fear had replaced the initial caution in his eyes. As for Lady Vala, she had cringed back into her seat, her eyes wide with alarm, a sight Archer found profoundly pleasing. "I accept your apologies," he said, and smiled again. Lord Maya, pale and perspiring, still managed to smile back.

Archer transferred his attention back to Trip. When he spoke, his voice was once again soft and gentle. "Turn, pet," he said. He remembered T'Pol's dry, measured tones: "The more that they believe that you love the Commander greatly, then by their social values, the greater is the wrong that they have done you. Therefore, you must convince them that the Commander is one of your most precious possessions."

Trip silently obeyed. In addition to his anger, Archer was also becoming alarmed. This silent, withdrawn automaton was not the Trip Tucker he knew. _Just do what you have to in order to get him out of here_ , he thought. Although he was increasingly afraid of what that was going to entail; the damage to their friendship might prove to be irreparable. _Fine_ , he thought, _If I save him only to lose him, it's a small price. One I'll gladly pay._

"Stop," he told Trip. He touched the younger man's shoulder blade, where a raw new tattoo scarred the flesh there.

"For identification purposes," Lady Vala offered timidly.

"I dislike anything that mars this beautiful back," Archer replied shortly. She flinched again, and he was bitterly pleased. "No matter," he added offhandedly, "My personal physician is very skilled — he will be able to repair this damage,” stressing the last word, and was pleased to see both his hosts look even uneasier.

It was true that he trusted Phlox would be able to repair all of Trip's physical hurts. But what of the others? He sighed inwardly. "Turn back, pet," he said softly. Trip did so, and Archer took the engineer's chin in his hand, and tilted his head up, so that he could look directly into those blue eyes. Eyes, that were, he noted unhappily, bleak and frighteningly blank. A snatch of an old nursery rhyme came back to him "...and all the king's horses and all the king's men..." Who was going to put Trip back together again? I'm going to do my best to try, he thought, even if I have to move heaven and earth to do so. If he'll let me. If he'll let me.

He smiled. "I've been worried about you, beautiful," he said. "I'll never forgive myself for allowing you to be stolen away from me in the first place. I've been looking high and low for you ever since." This, at least, was the truth; Archer had made the search Enterprise's only mission.

He ran his hands gently down Trip's arms, noted the trembling response. "It's all right, my pet," Archer soothed. "I'm not angry. I know you didn't run away. You wouldn't run away, now would you, my own?"

Trip shook his head very slightly. "And now I've found you," Archer continued. "And I'm here to take you home with me. I'm going to keep you safe from now on. No one will ever take you from me again."

Trip managed a small nod. Archer smiled at him. "That's my pet," he said. Suddenly, he leaned forward and kissed Trip. It was a demanding, insistent, masterful kiss. He forced his tongue between the younger man's lips, and drew him close, running his hands up and down his back. Trip stiffened for a moment, then relaxed into his embrace, submitting to Archer's intentions. Timidly, he slipped his arms around the Captain's waist, and Archer breathed a mental sigh of relief. _Thank God_ , he thought. Obviously, Trip understood the need for this charade. _I'm so sorry Trip. I wish I didn't have to do this_.

He broke off his kiss. "You still taste as sweet as ever, my beauty." For a master to kiss a slave meant that the slave was highly valued, a favourite, and greatly loved by his or her master. A most precious possession, indeed. He leaned forward, kissed Trip along the line of his jaw. "I'm sorry," he murmured in a low voice into Trip's ear. Trip did not respond, but neither did he tense up when Archer caressed him again, running his hands up and down the younger man's back.

Archer stepped back, turned to the two Tasumi who were watching all of this. "Fortunately," he said, "the damage appears to be minor."

The Lord and Lady both breathed an obvious sigh of relief. Archer took Trip by the hand. "Come, pet."

"Wait!" Lord Maya stood. "You must allow us to show you the proper hospitality," he protested, frightened but resolute.

Archer sighed inwardly. T'Pol had warned him about this. Were he to leave before all the formalities (including dinner and the entertainment) were complete, the Volashas would be irretrievably shamed. They would lose face to the extent that they might never regain it.

And in this society, death was preferable to losing face. And should that be the case, having lost face, they would then have nothing else left to lose. T'Pol had stated in her calm, dispassionate voice that in such a scenario, the chances would be good that they would kill both Archer and Trip rather than allow that to happen.

Archer smiled ruefully. "But of course. Please, forgive my lack of manners. In my delight and relief at the safe return of my beloved pet, I forgot how to behave properly." He looked at Trip. "I've waited this long," he said. "I suppose waiting a little longer won't hurt, will it? After all, anticipation is sweet, is it not, my beauty?" Trip nodded.

Lord Maya looked immensely relieved. "The feast awaits you." He nodded to the two guards, who stepped forward, preparing to take Trip.

For a brief instant, Archer was tempted to allow them. He could spare Trip a great deal if he did. But if he did, that would give lie to the idea that Trip was his beloved pet. And should any doubt arise in the minds of his hosts, then he and Trip might not make it out of here alive. Or, possibly, they would dispose of him and keep Trip. Neither possibility was particularly appetizing.

All of this went through his mind in a second. He shook his head, and pulled Trip to him, put a possessive arm around the engineer's waist. "I will not let my pet out of my sight," he said firmly. "I'm sure you understand."

"But of course," Lord Maya said quickly. "Whatever you wish."

What Archer really wished was to get the hell out of here and away from this place as quickly as possible.

Barring that, he would like to get a robe or something to cover Trip up. He hated having to humiliate him like this. But if he wanted to convince these two that Trip was indeed his own personal slave, then he could not do anything to contradict this. Not wishing to have his "pet's" body on view at all times for his enjoyment would be far too suspicious on his part. Once again, he found himself silently apologizing to Trip. _I wish it didn't have to be this way, my friend_.

"This way," his host said. Archer took Trip by the hand, and followed, into an ornate dining room. Three chairs were ranged around a long table, and Archer, as honoured guest, was seated at the head.

Trip made as if to stand behind him, but Archer stopped him. He looked around.

"A cushion, if you please," he said. His host and hostess looked surprised. "A cushion," he repeated, allowing the now-familiar edge to appear in his voice. "Surely you don't expect me to make my pet sit on this hard floor, do you?" When no answer was forthcoming, he added angrily, "I will not allow any more damage to be done to him."

Lord Maya snapped his fingers. There was a flurry of movement, and a moment later, a servant entered, bearing a small square pillow. Archer shook his head. "Not acceptable."

This caused even more frantic activity. Archer took a certain perverse pleasure in making them bring him a number of different pillows and cushions until he found one he deemed to be satisfactory. Barely.

It was placed on the floor, and silently, Trip knelt beside him. "Have you forgotten, pet?" Archer admonished kindly. "Sit, don't kneel. I don't want you getting leg cramps. It's obvious I'm going to have to remind you again as to what your true master prefers." But he smiled gently as he said it.

Trip silently obeyed, sitting quietly beside him. Archer pulled him closer, until his head was resting on the Captain's thigh. Trip sighed very faintly, but did not resist. Archer kept one possessive hand on the engineer, idly stroking his shoulders and neck. "That's better," he said. "Comfortable, my own?"

Trip nodded mutely. Archer was becoming increasingly concerned by the younger man's continued silence. Oh, well — only a little while longer and then we're gone. And when I get him back to _Enterprise_ , he can talk a blue streak.

Lord Maya exchanged a glance with his wife. Truly, this Captain was greatly enamored of his slave. How fortunate that he had decided to forgive them! Maya felt as if he had had a narrow escape; as if he had just avoided being hit by a runaway vehicle, or had decided against traveling on a doomed ship. He must do all he could to remain in this man's good graces. He was glad he had decided against the more severe forms of punishment that the House Master had recommended in order to train this slave. He shuddered to think what would have happened, had the Captain seen his beloved after one of those sessions. He said a fervent silent prayer of thanks to his household gods.

The first course of what turned out to be a long, and to Archer, interminable meal, arrived. It was roast meat of some sort. He took a piece, speared it onto his fork, and deftly popped it into Trip's mouth, much to the astonishment of his hosts. A slave eating before his master? But since it was Archer himself who was feeding his favorite, they said nothing. Archer looked up, saw their wondering gaze upon him. "My pet is far too thin," he said brusquely, by way of explanation. And he continued to feed Trip throughout the course of the banquet.

The conversation was careful, civilized and neutral. Archer had to force himself to be genial. He could not believe that a civilization as technologically advanced as the Tasumi could still subscribe to the notion that buying and selling sentients as if they were furniture was acceptable. The conversation finally slowed, and Archer steeled himself. He knew that his hosts were waiting for him to ask this question, and distasteful as he found it, he knew he must. Otherwise, they might begin to wonder about him, and he wanted no nagging questions about who or what he was.

"So," he said casually, leaning back, "how did you come to buy him?"

"I was searching for a gift to amuse my beloved wife," Lord Maya replied. "And I saw him on the block. That golden hair! And those blue eyes! So rare on our world. I knew that he would please her, so I immediately purchased him and brought him here."

Archer longed to stand up and give the son of a bitch a good hard punch. Break his nose, loosen a few teeth. Instead, he swallowed his bile, and smiled easily. "Ah, yes. He is quite lovely, isn't he? I can't begin to tell you the number of offers I've had for him."

"Captain — if I may," Lady Vala asked, "how did you come to own him?"

"Spoils of battle," Archer replied carelessly. He stroked Trip's hair. "The best I've ever received." He looked across at his hostess. "I trust he was satisfactory, Lady Vala?"

"Oh, indeed he was," she enthused. "I will be sorry to lose his services."

"Understandable," Archer agreed.

"However," she began, hesitantly.

"Yes, Lady?" he encouraged.

"Captain, I hope this will not anger you, but — I am surprised. He required a certain amount of training, and —"

"— and you were wondering why," Archer finished for her. _Think fast, Jon_.

"It's very simple," he said. "I was undertaking his training myself. Unfortunately, I did not have as much time as I would have liked to devote to this. A man in my position has a lot of demands on his time. I had started to remedy this during our holiday, but then he was stolen from me." He paused. "So you say you have trained him, have you?" At her nod, he sighed. "Pity. I was looking forward to refining him myself."

"I am sorry, Captain."

Archer shrugged. "What's done is done. And you did not know. I do not hold you responsible." Although I would like to wring your neck. "So, pet," he said to Trip, "you've learned a few new tricks, have you? I guess you'll have something to show me, won't you?" Trip nodded in response. Archer ran a slow, teasing hand down his back. "Yet something else I have to look forward to."

Trip simply looked down at the floor.

The meal finally ended with a sweet cake and some after-dinner drinks. Archer fed Trip a large slice of cake, and insisted that he be given the Tasumi equivalent of a glass of milk. "No wine for you, pet," he said jovially. "At least, not yet." Trip ate silently, finished his "milk", then lay his head back against Archer's leg.

"That was a fine dinner," the Captain told his hosts, managing to sound as if he had had many better. He continued to stroke Trip's hair, and added, "I know my personal chef would like the recipe for that cake. My own enjoyed it too, didn't you, pet?"

"I shall ensure that Al-Saahn makes the recipe available to you before you leave," Lady Vala said.

"Thank you, my Lady," Archer replied. "You are a very gracious hostess." For a slave-owning bitch, that is.

"And now, Captain, we have delights of another sort for you to enjoy," Lord Maya said.

Archer steeled himself. He had hoped they would want to skip this, but as T'Pol had pointed out, his hope was illogical and most likely doomed to failure. He briefly considered sending Trip to the shuttle pod but realized to do so would raise any number of red flags. It looked like he would simply have to go through with it. And hope to pick up the pieces afterwards.

He smiled at Maya. "Yes," he said. "I understand that you have a reputation for finding only the best. I'm looking forward to the rest of the evening." _Not_.

He rose, held out a hand to Trip. "Come, my pet."


	4. Four

The room they were ushered into looked like some mad designer's idea of a Roman orgy chamber. Couches and loungers were scattered everywhere, There were other pieces of furniture; God only knew what their uses were . It was evident that Trip had been here before; Archer could feel him tense up, and for a brief second, he saw fear in the younger man's eyes. _What the hell did they do to you?_ He leaned over, whispered into his ear. "Trip. Trust me. I won't let anyone hurt you."

A round raised stage stood in the centre of the room. Trip avoided looking at it, and Archer became convinced that Trip had endured some terrible ordeal here. He was starting to get an idea of what it might have been, and was both appalled and disgusted.

Aware of his host's watchful eyes on them, he lightly kissed Trip on the cheek. "Hang in there," he murmured.

For the first time, Trip spoke. His voice was low and tremulous, and Archer had to strain to hear him. "I know, Captain. It's okay. I understand."

 _God, I hope that's true_. "I'll try not to hurt you," Archer said gently.

Seeing his hosts' eyes upon them, he kissed Trip again.

"It's okay," Trip murmured in response. "I've had worse." There was something so unutterably dreadful about the matter-of-fact way he said it that Archer wanted to scream or to strike out at someone — anyone. Instead, he gave Trip a comforting squeeze of the hand.

One of the household servants approached him. "May I take your robe, Sir?"

Suppressing a sigh, Archer slipped out of his heavy outer clothing. Now, he was clad only in a light linen robe. He and Trip were shown to one of the loungers near the stage. It had the best view, and Archer knew that this was reserved for the guest of honour.

His host and hostess took positions on other loungers and lay back, preparing to enjoy the show.

Archer imitated them, laying on his side. He patted the lounge. "Come, pet," he invited, loudly enough for the two Tasumi to hear.

Trip obeyed, sitting on the edge of the lounger. Archer gently pulled the engineer to him. Trip surrendered. He lay on his side so that his back was resting against Archer's chest, and passively allowed Archer to spoon up against him.

Despite all of his assurances, Archer knew that the younger man was still frightened; he could feel his trembling. He began to gently nibble on his ear. "I'm sorry," he whispered, for Trip's ears alone between nibbles. "I'm sorry, Trip. But I won't let them hurt you. That's a promise." Trip's trembling lessened, although it did not completely vanish. "I'll try and make this as easy as I can." Archer said. Then, louder, for the benefit of his hosts, he said, "It's been a while, hasn't it, pet?" Trip nodded, mutely.

The first act was an troupe of acrobats. They tumbled and cavorted all around the room. Had the circumstances been different, Archer might have been able to enjoy the show they put on. However, he was acutely aware that his host and hostess were watching him far more closely than the entertainment. Not only his hosts; the retinue of servants and squadron of armed guards who had followed into the room were also watching, waiting, expecting.

Obviously, he was going to have to put on an exhibition of his own in order to lay to rest any of their last lingering doubts. He had hoped that his behaviour during dinner had been enough, but obviously not. _Damn_!

One misstep, and there would be trouble. Serious trouble. None of these thoughts showed on his face, however; to all outward appearances, he looked relaxed, nonchalant, and preparing to enjoy himself.

He rested on one elbow, chin in hand. With casual possessiveness he draped the other arm over Trip. And now, he began to allow his hand to roam across the younger man, gently caressing him. He trailed light fingers across Trip's chest, his waist, and stomach. Trip shifted slightly.

Archer's touch began to become more insistent, less casual. He allowed himself to explore the soft mat of hair on Trip's chest, lightly brushing it, causing Trip to shiver. He hoped that shiver was of pleasure, not fear.

Gently, he took one of Trip's nipples between his thumb and forefinger, began to manipulate it. Trip closed his eyes, clenched his jaw. His hands tightened around the edge of the couch while Archer continued to tease him throughout the rest of the acrobatics act.

When they had finished their last stunt, and taken their bows, Archer took time away from his attentions to Trip long enough to ring the small bell that stood on the table by his couch. This was the form of applause used on this planet. There were several other items on the table, but he'd be damned if he laid a hand on any of them.

The acrobats were now followed by a pair of jugglers, who managed an increasingly difficult number and types of items as their routine progressed.

Archer felt somewhat sorry for the entertainers; all eyes were fixed on Trip and him. He wished it could be otherwise, but knew that mere wishing would not make it happen.

He leaned back until the back of the lounge supported him. He then slipped his other arm under Trip, and pulled him tight against him. Now both of his hands were busy, one on each one of Trip's nipples. Trip sighed, moaned slightly, but Archer did not stop.

Musicians replaced the jugglers. The resultant melodies were haunting and sweet, and Archer again wished that he was experiencing this under vastly different circumstances. Using the sound of the music as a cover, Archer leaned forward. Seeming to tickle Trip's ear with his tongue, he whispered, "I wish I wasn't forced to do this to you, believe me."

"It's all right, Captain," Trip whispered back. "Better you than someone else."

 _God_ , Archer thought, nearly incoherent with rage, _I'd like to kill these people!_ "I'm sorry," he repeated, helplessly. "If there were any other way ..."

Trip nodded very slightly. Archer promised himself that since it was inevitable, he would try at the very least to give Trip some pleasure. So far it seemed he was succeeding.

Trip was starting to squirm in his embrace. Archer continued to nibble his ears and then kiss his neck. One hand kept on concentrating on the engineer's nipples, while the other travelled slowly, teasingly, down his stomach. Archer allowed only the very tips of his fingers to brush Trip's groin before his hand wandered up and down his legs, and then up to stroke his ass. He then dipped down between his legs for a brief, tantalizing contact before starting to explore the rest of him again. Trip whimpered, deep in his throat, and rocked against him.

A singer now joined the musicians. She had a lovely voice, and an impressive range. She sang beautiful, wordless melodies, and the sound of her voice filled the hall, drowning out Trip's soft moans.

The younger man was beginning to become erect. He moaned, and his hips shifted. Archer had no pity on him; instead, he continued the slow, slow torture, making Trip wait, forcing patience upon him.

Lady Vala looked across at them. "For someone who has had to delay as long as you have, Captain," she said, "you are certainly taking your time. I congratulate you on your restraint."

Archer smiled. He knew what she was getting at, but he wasn't going to fall into her rather obvious trap. "I like to play," he told her. "Sometimes, I will spend all of an afternoon or evening, just playing." He ran a hand down Trip's chest and stomach. "He's exquisite, isn't he?" he asked, looking fondly at Trip. "My beautiful golden boy. And it gives me so much pleasure to see him like this. So ravishing, so helpless. Waiting for me. Dependent on me. Needing me to bring him relief." So put that in your pipe and smoke it. "And he likes it too, don't you, pet?"

And for the first time, Trip spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear. "Yes, Master." Archer fleetingly wondered how anyone in their right mind could really be stupid enough to think that Trip would actually enjoy being on display like this. But evidently, the Lord and Lady over there never thought to stop and consider it; they simply accepted Trip's moaning agreement as fact.

Trip whimpered, loudly. "Now, now, pet," Archer admonished. "I'm your master again, and you are going to have to relearn patience, aren't you? Fortunately, I am happy to teach you." God, this sounds like dialogue from a bad porno. But it was satisfying the two voyeurs over there, and that was all that mattered. And he continued caressing Trip, playing with his nipples and lightly teasing his sex.

Trip arched his back, moaning with delight. He spoke, and his voice was thick with pleasure and need. "Master, please!"

"Wait, my pet," Archer told him. "We have all night to play."

At this, Lady Vala called Al-Saahn over. After a brief consultation, he in turn approached Archer. "With my Mistress's compliments," he said, proffering a small jar. He took the lid off. Inside, lightly scented oil gleamed. "My mistress says to tell you that if you will apply this to your pet, you will find the results to be most rewarding."

Archer wanted nothing to do with any of it, but to refuse now would be to go against the picture he had so carefully painted; that of a Master who delighted in teasing his slave into paroxysms of ecstasy. "Tell your Mistress her gift is appreciated," he said formally, and took the jar. "Pet," he said quietly but firmly. Trip, hearing the implicit order, lay on his back and waited.

Archer took a small amount of the oil between his thumb and forefinger. It tingled slightly, and he could imagine what it would do to Trip, stimulated as he already was. He leaned forward. "I'm sorry," he whispered. Trip opened his eyes, looked up at him, and nodded almost imperceptibly. Archer kissed him, then slowly began to apply the stimulant oil to Trip's nipples.

Trip gasped and arched his back in response. "Master!" he cried. Archer did not respond to his plea; instead, he continued to mercilessly manipulate the engineer's nipples. The oil obviously intensified the sensations the younger man was experiencing. Trip whined with pleasure, and his head moved helplessly from side to side. He writhed underneath Archer's touch, and then cried aloud.

Aware of the Volashas' regard, Archer smiled down on Trip. "Perhaps I should stop now," he said, teasing him.

"No, Master," Trip moaned, loud enough for the rest of the room to hear. "Please."

"You don't want me to stop?" God, I only wish I could.

"Master, please don't stop. Please."

"Then I'm going to make you wait, my beauty," Archer warned him, playing his role to the hilt, so to speak. He continued to fondle Trip as he spoke. "No mercy."

"Yes, Master," Trip whimpered. "I know. No mercy."

"I'm going to play with you, pet. Until my touch is the only thing you know."

"Yes, Master."

"I'm going to teach you patience, all over again."

"Yes, Master."

"I'm going to make you beg me for release."

"Yes, Master."

"And every time you beg, I'm going to make you wait just a little longer."

"Yes, Master."

"And then I'm going to take you. Right here on this couch. With everyone watching." _And may God — and Trip — forgive me for that._

"Yes, Master."

"You're going to scream, my pet," Archer informed him. "You're going to scream with pleasure, loud enough that the entire household is going to hear those screams, and everyone is going to know what's happening to you."

"Yes, Master."

"And I'm going to watch you beg and scream, my beauty. And when I get tired of watching, I may allow you to come. Or I may play with you all night long. It will be my choice."

"Yes, Master."

"Very well." And he took more of the oil, and applied it to Trip's erection, using only one fingertip. At this touch, Trip arched his back again, and cried out.

Archer, however, was merciless. He continued to subject Trip to this sweet torture, using his hands and tongue until the younger man was writhing in ecstatic agony.

There was a dancer on stage now, but she could have been standing still for all the attention she was receiving. All eyes were riveted on Trip, as Archer continued his slow attentions. Archer, aware of this, sighed unhappily. Better make this a good show, he thought. At least he was giving Trip some pleasure. But he was certain all of this was something Trip would happily forgo, if he could. Unfortunately, neither one of them had any choice.

He continued until Trip was on the very edge of orgasm. He then pulled him back from the brink, causing Trip to whimper in frustration.

"You have to wait, pet," Archer reminded him.

"Yes, Master," Trip moaned. His head turned helplessly from side to side. His hands were clenched, and his entire body was as taut as a drawn bowstring. _He really is beautiful_ , Archer thought abstractedly. He allowed himself to react to that beauty, and he could feel himself stirring for the first time. _At least I won't have to take Phlox's potion,_ he thought. It would have been difficult to explain why the big bad Jonathan Archer needed help in that area.

Fortunately, it looked like that wasn't going to be a problem.

Again, he drew one teasing finger along the erect shaft that was in need of attention. Trip squirmed.

"Lie still," he commanded Trip. By not allowing Trip the release of movement, his tension—and pleasure — would only increase.

"Master, no," Trip whimpered. "Please."

"Are you begging me, pet?"

Trip arched his back in reply. Archer tapped his shoulder. "Pet," he said, warningly. "I told you to keep still."

"Yes, Master." And somehow, Trip managed to obey.

"You're begging me, are you?"

"Oh, yes, please!" Trip moaned.

"What did I tell you?"

"That my Master would make me wait if I were to beg," Trip gasped.

"That's right, my beauty."

"Shall I make you wait, then?"

"If my Master wishes it," Trip panted.

"Good, pet," Archer praised him. "Have you learned patience yet?"

"I'm trying, Master," he moaned in reply. Archer leaned down, took one tortured nipple in his mouth, began running his tongue back and forth across the erect nub.

His hands slipped down, caressing, stroking, and causing Trip to whimper with inarticulate delight.

Archer lifted his head. "Only my touch, pet."

"Yes ... Master," Trip managed.

"More, beautiful?"

"Please, please, please!" Trip cried out.

"Shall I take you now, pet?" He wished to God that he didn't have to. Trip's hands clenched, and Archer placed his over them, preventing Trip from making any more movements.

"Take me," Trip moaned. "Make me scream, Master."

Archer bent, kissed Trip roughly on the lips. "Trip —," he began in a hoarse whisper, uncertain what else to say.

"Do me," Trip managed to whisper back. "I'd rather it was you, Captain, than —" he didn't continue. Archer was appalled. How bad must it have been for Trip, that this was his best option?

"Really." Trip sighed. "Do me, so we can get the hell out of here, okay?" And he whimpered again, closed his eyes.

"That's a deal," Archer whispered in his ear, then kissed him again. Loudly, he said, "I'm going to take you now. And I'm not going to stop until you're exhausted. I'm going to use you until you can't move anymore. You're going to scream yourself hoarse with pleasure, pet."

"Yes, Master," Trip moaned. "Please!" And without being told to, he rolled on his side. Archer undid his own robe, but did not remove it. He knew it would not be fitting for him to expose himself to his hosts.

Archer made sure Trip was ready for him. He used some of the oil to ensure that Trip would not have any pain, only pleasure, when he entered him. He positioned himself behind Trip, and then slowly, carefully, pushed his way inside. Trip gasped, as he was being stimulated from within. I'm sorry, Archer thought, God, I am sorry, Trip. And slowly, deliberately, he began to move. One hand continued to torment Trip's nipples, while the other fondled his erect sex.

Trip was gasping. He rocked back and forth, impaled as he was on the Captain. His awareness had dwindled down to the hand torturing his nipples, the other teasing his erect shaft, and Archer moving within him. It was as the Captain had promised; no consciousness except for that touch, and no release until Archer allowed it.

He had no idea how long it went on. He realized, dimly, that it must be continuing for some time; the Captain brought him to the edge and then pulled him back several times.

He heard himself begging, begging for mercy, for release. Neither was forthcoming. Now he was indeed screaming, imploring Archer for a reprieve. The Captain's response was to only torment him further.

Trip found himself writhing, moaning, screaming, while the Captain's clever, relentless, ruthless hands played his body as expertly as a master musician would a violin concerto. Archer's voice broke into the white ecstasy that had become his awareness. "Do you want relief, pet?"

Oh, yes, he wanted relief. He wasn't sure he could stand much more; he was afraid it would kill him. "Master," he managed to gasp, remembering where he was and who was watching.

"Answer me, pet."

"Only if it pleases you, Master," he whimpered.

Evidently, this was the answer the Captain had been waiting for; he began to pump harder, and for the first time, the hand on his cock was moving rhythmically as opposed to touching, teasing, stopping, and then teasing some more. He felt the older man moan, and stiffen against him, and knew that Archer had finally come. He felt insanely jealous; damn it, why wasn't he allowed the same sweet relief?

Archer slowed his manipulations, forcing Trip to wait. Finally, he relented, and started working on him in earnest. It took no time at all; he felt Trip pulse in his hand, and the engineer's slender body stiffened and jerked as his orgasm thundered through him.

Trip cried out and arched his back as it hit. He knew he had been ordered not to move, but he couldn't help himself. His climax hit him with the force of a phaser blast, and he thought dimly that it was a miracle that the top of his head hadn't blown off.

Slowly, he came back down from the heights the Captain had brought him to. He could feel Archer, gently rubbing his back, and nibbling on his ears and neck, whispering words of reassurance and comfort.

A household servant appeared and wiped him down. Trip lay passively, submitting to the ritual cleaning. He knew better than to protest. He was also dimly aware of applause, and realized that the Lord and Lady had been impressed.

Archer sighed. Hopefully, that was that. Now, maybe, they could leave. Idly, he ran his hand across Trip, and down his stomach. The younger man must be exhausted, he thought.

Suddenly, his eyes widened in surprise. _You have got to be kidding_ , he thought. He looked down to confirm what his touch told him.

"Yes," Lady Vala said, proudly. "I told you that we had trained him. Are you not pleased?"

Archer looked at the impressive erection Trip was still sporting. _Christ, no_!

However, his expression was one of pleased surprise. _I ought to get some kind of acting award when this is done_ , he thought with tired amusement. He kissed Trip.

"My goodness, pet," he said, mildly, "You are greedy tonight, aren't you?"


	5. Five

Jonathan Archer was working very hard. 

On getting drunk. 

He took another swig of bourbon — neat — and considered as dispassionately as he could how interesting it was that there were so many synonyms for what he was doing. There were, of course, the formal terms: intoxicated, inebriated, and drunken. Then there were the more colourful colloquial ones: stoned; feeling no pain; bombed; crocked; tanked; tight. Blotto. Loaded. Hammered. Sloshed. And his own personal all-time favourite: shit-faced. And that was where he was rapidly heading — on to being well and truly shit-faced.

Yes, there really were an astonishing number of words and phrases used to describe the effects of alcohol on the human nervous system.

And then, there were other words that didn't have quite so many expressions.

Take, for instance, this particular word: rape.

Rape. Such a short word. Short, but not sweet. Oh, no, no, no. 

Harsh. Brutal. Like a punch to the gut. But sweet? Not on your life.

Not too many synonyms for that one, were there? Oh, there was "sexual assault". But that was a lawyer's term. Dry and juice-less. Didn't have quite the same zip. Zing. Zippidy-do-dah.

Rape. And what word comes from "rape"?

Why, “rapist”, of course.

Another short and to the point term.

He raised his glass. Empty. Captain of the Starship _Enterprise_ , the first warp 5 starship ever built, shouldn't have to tolerate an empty shot glass when pondering 'ponderables such as these, should he. No. You bet your sweet ass. Or maybe he should say “Trip's sweet ass.” He shook his head. He'd already done enough there, hadn't he?

He refilled his glass, and noted that his hand was still steady. "Straight and true," he muttered, and raised the glass again. 

When you commit rape, what are you? Why, my goodness, Captain, that makes you a rapist. Q — E — goddamn D. A logical syllogism, as Subcommander T'Pol might say.

And when you commit your rape in public? You are what?

"An over-achiever," he muttered. At this, Porthos raised his head and whined.

"That's right," he told the beagle. "Leave it to Captain Archer to make that l'il extra effort. Go 'nother mile." After all, he was a perfectionist, wasn't he? At least, that's what everyone around him said. Why, one time, Trip ... He shook his head. No good thinking about that now.

He drained his glass. Dammit, when did the dulling effect that everyone was always talking about kick in? He could still hear Trip's cries, as clear as they had been last night.

He looked at his hand. My good right hand. Did my other good right hand. He giggled. "I just made a joke," he told Porthos. "I must be the funniest guy in the whole damn galaxy. Whaddya say, huh?"

Porthos, of course, declined to answer. Pity. He could use an unbiased point of view right now.

He wiped his good right hand on his pants. All the perfumes in Arabia...or all of Phlox's potions...whatever.

"Cannot remove this stain from my little hand," he said aloud. Good old Bill. Dead and dust for centuries, but still able to provide just the right bon mot.

He looked at his hand again. "If thy right hand offend thee — " he murmured. Not one of old Bill's, but from another source. One far older. And wiser. It had been pretty goddamned offensive, hadn't it? Jerking Trip off for the amusement of Lord and Lady Ghoul? He poured himself another drink, downed it in one gulp.

“Encores,” he muttered. “Fucking _encores_.” 

He flexed his fingers. Even after one of Phlox's handy-dandy fixer-uppers, they still ached. That was nothing compared to what Trip had suffered, though.

Trip.

Turned out that Mister Tucker had been busy while away. Learning. Being "trained" by the Violations — no, the Volashas, that was their name. And Trip, always the star pupil, had learned his lessons very well.

"No," he said angrily. That wasn't fair. God only knew what they'd done to Trip. Blaming him was an excuse. A cop-out. And captains were not allowed the luxury to make excuses or use cop-outs. Especially when they didn't deserve them.

If anyone were to blame, it was Lord and Lady Whatsernames. He clenched his hands into fists, ignoring the pain. Did they even suspect, he wondered, that it had taken every ounce of willpower he possessed not to snap their necks like dry twigs? Lying there, smiling, watching while he whacked Trip off. And him, making comments about his slave's seemingly inexhaustible new capacities. Who was the most detestable? They, at least, didn't know better.

"Right," he muttered. Ah, the cognitive abilities were still functioning, were they? Well, he'd fix that! "Another round, barkeep!" Whoops, sorry. No bartender on duty in the Captain's quarters. Pity. He'd have to take care of things himself, it seemed. No problem. That's what he was, wasn't he? A problem taker-care of, that was Jonathan Archer.

His buzzer sounded. Well, if this was what they talked about when they said this stuff would help you "get a buzz", then he was sorely disappointed.

The door sounded again. "Buzz off," he said, and snickered. That great wit, Jonathan Archer, strikes again. Captain Archer, Space Cadet and all-round Boy Wonder and inter-stellar jokester, to boot. A man of many, many talents. And now, he could add rape, buggery and assault to his list of accomplishments! And not just to anyone — no, he had done those wonderful things to the best friend he'd ever had! That ought to be worth an accolade or two — at the very least. Could a man ask for anything more?

He heard the tone of the override code. Who would dare — ? The door opened, and Subcommander T'Pol stepped in. He should have guessed. 

Wonderful. All he needed. Didn't he just give her a direct order? 'Buzz off'. How much more goddamned direct did it have to be? This was insub— insubru— mutiny, that's what it was. Pure and simple. He ought to — he ought to _assert_ himself, dammit!

T'Pol looked at the Captain, who was slumped over his desk. He stared up at her. "Brig," he slurred. "Gonna throw you in the brig. Told you to buzz off. Didn't obey. Bad precedent."

She raised an eyebrow. "You are inebriated."

"I am not inebriated," he said with drunken dignity. "I am," he told her, carefully enunciating every word, "shit-faced."

"There is a difference?"

"Oh, yeah. Absolulu— yeah. There is." He looked at her with eyes that were bleary and bloodshot. "Guess that's not something a Vulcan would know 'bout, right?"

"We have more effective and longer-lasting methods of dealing with negative emotions."

"Negative emotions?" he repeated. "No no no. Not negative. It's a celebration, innit? Wha's wrong w' that?" He took another drink. "Celebratin'. It's party time. Got what we came for, right?" She didn't answer. "Course I'm right," he went on. "Got Trip, din't we? Good ol' Commander Tucker. Safe, and —" He took another drink. "Safe, anyhow."

She was puzzled. Once again, human emotions mystified her. Why was he acting this way? He had known what would likely entail when he took this mission on. Yes, it was most likely unpleasant. But it was over and done with. Dwelling on the facts, no matter how unpalatable they were, would not change said facts.

He looked up at her. "What're you lookin' at?" he asked truculently.

She responded truthfully. "You."

"You tryin' to be funny?" he demanded. "'Cause that's my job. Not yours. I'm the official jokester on board. Not you. Me. Not Ms. Vulcan T'Pold you so." He snickered again.

She stepped forward. "I believe that you have had enough to drink." And she reached for the bottle.

He snatched it away from her, wagged a finger in her face. "Uh-uh. I'll say when I've had enough." He took another swig straight from the bottle, and stood, and began to stagger about the room. "I'm the Captain," he muttered, "and I'll damned well say when I've damned well had enough." And he took another drink.

"And when will that be?" she asked.

He stopped and stared at her. "When I can't hear him anymore."

*****

Archer looked up as the door opened. "You're late!" he announced gaily.

Dr. Phlox stepped into his quarters. "Indeed, Captain?"

"Yep. Figured you'd be here, oh, 'bout...ten minutes 'go. When I threw her Subcommander Ladyship T'Pol out. Figured she'd go runnin' to you. An', she did. But you should have been here -" and he waggled his finger reproachfully at the doctor — "ten minutes ago! Drunken cap'n — medical 'mergency, don't you know?"

"May I sit down?"

"Sure! Why not? Have a drink, doc! Hell, have two!"

"I'll pass, thank you."

"'Kay. All the more for me, then."

"I think not." Phlox reached over. Archer grabbed the bottle. "No one listens," he complained. "I'm the goddamned Captain and I'll goddamned well say when I've had enough to goddamn drink!"

"And I'm the Ship's Doctor," Phlox said. His tone was mild, but something in his blue eyes made Archer pause. Sulkily, he put the bottle on the table.

"Fine. Take it. Wasn't workin' anyway."

Phlox took the bottle (which was almost empty) and placed it on the floor beside him.

"Why isn't it working, Captain?"

Archer looked at him, and suddenly chuckled slyly. "Oh, no. No, no, no. Tryin' to make me talk. Won't work. Captain has to bear some things 'lone. 'Sides —"

"Besides what, Captain?"

"Wrong person," he muttered. "Just realized."

"Captain?"

"Can't talk to T'Pol — wouldn't unnerstan'. Malcolm? Don't know. Stuffy. Travis? Only an Ensign. Hoshi? Not kind of thing to talk to young lady 'bout. So T'Pol went to you."

"You're correct. She did."

"And you were late," Archer said, going back to his original complaint. "Why you late for a medical 'mergency, huh?"

"I had things to take care of first."

"He's not a thing!" Archer burst out.

"Yes, yes, you're right," Phlox said hastily. "I apologize."

"He's not a thing," Archer repeated, shaking his head. "He OK?"

"He's sleeping. One of my assistants is with him."

"Sickbay? Too public, dammit. Privacy. Gotta have some privacy. 'Specially after —"

"He's in his quarters," Phlox told the captain. "I've sedated him. He'll sleep until morning, and he won't be alone when he wakes up."

"Good," said Archer moodily. He folded his hands, looked at them, and brooded. "Needs rest. Recup'ration. All that stuff." He glared at Phlox. "Unnerstand?"

"Indeed I do. And I agree."

"'Kay. Good."

There was a moment's silence, then Phlox said, "I confess to being somewhat curious, Captain. Just what did you mean by 'the wrong person'?"

"You. Sorry. No 'fense. But to talk to? Wrong person."

"And who is the right person, Captain?" Phlox asked gently.

"You know damn well who!"

"Commander Tucker."

"Right. My best fren' in the whole goddamn universe. Always there. Ready to lissen. Any time. Not just to the Cap'n. No. Everybody. They all go to him. Ever notice?"

Phlox nodded.

Archer continued. "Ensign Jones — cried her eyes out on his shoulder when her marriage went..." he pointed his thumb downward. "Crewman Howzer. Mother sick. Trip got him leave. Always gonna listen, Trip. Nice guy. Good guy. Decent guy." And he glared at Phlox, as if daring him to contradict this.

"Indeed," Phlox agreed. "So you would prefer to speak to him, would you?"

"You don't get it!" Archer snarled. "I can't, goddamn it! Last person in the world I can talk to now!" And as quickly as it appeared, his anger vanished. His eyes filled with tears. "Don't you get it? I'll never be able to talk to him again. Never."

"I think you're being somewhat over-dramatic," Phlox said gently.

"Yeah?" Archer demanded. "Shows what you know."

He looked at his hands again.

"Do your hands still ache, Captain?"

"Yeah. Know why they ache? Huh? Do you?"

"No. Why not tell me?"

Archer shook his head. "Can't."

"Whatever you say will remain between us, Captain. Doctor-patient confidentiality."

Archer looked at him warily. "Promise?"

"I promise."

"They hurt 'cause I spent all night jerking Trip off," Archer said sullenly. "Happy now?"

"I see," said Phlox mildly.

Archer lurched to his feet, began to pace. His gait was unsteady, but he could still walk.

"This 'jerking off' that you performed on the Commander — did you enjoy it, Captain?"

"Of course not!" Archer was shouting.

"Then why did you do it?"

"'Cause couldn't leave. Not 'till Trip was 'finished'. Would have been rude. Manners, y'know. Had to entertain them." He turned and looked at Phlox. "Had to make sure they weren't offended. Thought if I fucked him, it would be enough. Wasn't."

Phlox was surprised. He had rarely, if ever, heard the Captain use such crude language. Profanity, yes. But not this. 

"But it wasn't?"

"No. Wasn't." Archer said angrily. "I got done. He didn't. Still hard. Ready to go. Still..." he broke off.

"Captain, I think you should know that the Commander's system has been literally inundated with a powerful stimulant/aphrodisiac. You could not have foreseen that they would do this to him."

"Should have."

"You are not being realistic, here, Captain."

"Doesn't matter. Should have," Archer said stubbornly.

Phlox decided that at this point in time, nothing would be gained by pursuing this point. Instead, he said, questioningly, "So, due to this stimulant, he..."

"Still up. If you know what I mean. Had to keep at him." He stopped, sat back down, put his face in his hands. "He screamed," the Captain said, his voice muffled. "Screamed and screamed. They loved it. I wanted to stop, but I couldn't. Otherwise, they might have thought something was fishy. Had to make 'em happy, see? Had to pretend...had to pretend that I liked it, too. Took almost the whole damn night before ... before ...” He looked at Phlox, and his eyes were full of tears. "So when they finally said thanks for the fun, you know what?. I thanked 'em back. You believe that? I thanked those bastards. For 'trainin'' Trip so well. Then I was finally able to get him the hell out of there."

Phlox reached over, patted him on the shoulder. "You've had a terrible experience," he sympathized.

"And you're full of shit!" Archer yelled. "What're you talkin' about? Me? Was my best fren' had the terrible 'sperience. From me. I did it. I raped him. God help me, I raped my best fren' in the world. I put him through hell." He started to cry. "I tortured and raped my bes' fren', and you're telling me that I'm the one who's had it rough?"

"Yes," Phlox said. "I am."

Archer continued to sob. "How will I ever make it up to him? How? Can't expect him to forgive me—too much. No right to ask." He looked up at Phlox. "I've lost my best fren' in the whole world, doc. An' now, I'm all alone. What the hell do I do now? What am I gonna do now?"

*****

It had been a long night, and Dr. Phlox was as tired as he could ever remember being. Tired in both body and soul.

Between Captain Archer and Commander Tucker, he had been kept very busy. To say the least. After finally managing to bundle the Captain off to bed, he had then come to Commander Tucker's quarters, to keep a watchful eye on the young engineer as he slept.

He sighed. Difficult, it was all so difficult. Take the Captain, now. He might not be in the same physical discomfort that Commander Tucker was, but the man's mental anguish was very real and very great. As evidenced by his clumsy (and ultimately unsuccessful) attempt to anesthetize himself with alcohol.

Clearly, the Captain was going to have a difficult journey ahead of him. 

But not, he was afraid, as the man over whom who he was currently standing watch.

A faint whimper intruded into his thoughts. It was much the same sound one of his children might have made, when very young, and suffering from a fever or bad dream. Certainly not the sound he would expect coming from the Chief Engineer of the starship _Enterprise_.

Phlox put his padd down. Commander Tucker's head shifted on his pillow, and he cried out softly. The sedative was beginning to wear off. Phlox spoke quietly to him, assuring him that he was safe aboard Enterprise. His patient quieted down again, but nevertheless, Phlox sighed. Healing the Commander's physical hurts was a simple undertaking when compared to the daunting task of healing his emotional and mental ones.

The Chief Engineer, seemingly so outgoing and gregarious was, in reality, a deeply private man. As the Captain had pointed out, he was always sympathetic to the trials and cares of others, but when it came to his own woes, he tended to shut down his emotions and shut others out.

"Trip puts his troubles in a safe deposit box, " the Captain had told Phlox, "then locks that box in a vault, builds a fortress over top of it and then digs a moat around the whole thing."

Considering the amount of alcohol present in Archer's bloodstream at the time of this pronouncement, the veracity and accurateness of the Captain's summary had been impressive.

Commander Tucker shifted, moaned again and shivered. Phlox had promised the Captain that the young engineer would not awaken alone, and this was a promise he meant to keep. The only problem was, he was not the person to whom the Commander should wake up to.

It was a pity, he mused, that it was currently impossible for the Captain to hold this bedside vigil. Jonathan Archer was the one person Charles Tucker trusted implicitly. While Phlox understood why the Captain felt he could, and should, not be present, it was still unfortunate. He hoped that Archer would be able to defeat his demons. Otherwise ... he sighed again, and his expression, normally cheerful, was glum.

Commander Tucker gasped, then cried aloud. His eyes flew open, and he looked around, momentarily confused. His frightened gaze came to rest on Phlox. "Doc?" he whispered hoarsely.

"That's right, Commander," Phlox replied reassuringly. "You're safe aboard _Enterprise_."

"Tasumi?"

"I can't be entirely certain," Phlox told him, "but considering the fact that we have been at warp 5 for the past 24 hours, I would guess that we are far away from that particular system by now."

"Warp 5? Too fast," was the hoarse reply. _Enterprise's_ chief engineer tried to sit up, but the doctor was able to easily prevent him. The Commander cringed at the doctor's touch, but obeyed. He lay back, shivering.

"You are in no condition to take up your duties, Commander."

At the word "duties", the younger man flinched. Still shivering, he looked away from Phlox, and pulled his blankets protectively up over himself. It was then he noticed the bandages on both wrists. Hesitantly, he put a hand up to his throat, and found the dressing the doctor had placed there as well.

"Yes," Phlox said, answering his unspoken question. "They've been removed. The Captain," he added in a seemingly off-handed manner, "ordered them destroyed. He was somewhat annoyed."

That was an understatement. When Archer had learned that the bracelets and collar that Trip had been wearing were not only restraining devices, but pain givers as well, the Captain had been as angry as Phlox had ever seen him. Once Phlox had removed them, Archer had commanded Lieutenant Reed to destroy them. The young Lieutenant, equally enraged, had taken grim pleasure in personally melting them down to their component atoms.

Phlox's patient had no answer to this.

Suppressing a sigh, Phlox continued. "I need to explain what is going to happen now, Commander." This earned him another frightened look.

"It's nothing to worry about," the doctor said, gently. He realized those words, or others to the same effect, were going to be a necessary part of the vocabulary of those who would be dealing with the Commander. And probably for quite some time to come.

"Your former, ah, hosts," Phlox continued, keeping his tone detached and clinical, "forced you to ingest large quantities of certain drugs." His patient remained silent. "Quantities that are far too great for your system to handle. As a result, your metabolism has become dangerously unbalanced. The shivering and cramping you are experiencing are symptoms of this. I need to stabilize you, and also flush those drugs out of your system." There was still no response. Phlox continued. "In my opinion, the safest way to accomplish this will be to induce a coma —"

"— Coma?"

"Yes, Commander, a coma. An artificial coma, induced with medication. It will be quite safe. Then I will be able to stabilize you, and also rid your system of these dangerous drugs. However, I need your informed consent before proceeding."

"Coma," the young man mumbled. He looked at Phlox, considering.

"It's the best way," the doctor assured him. "Otherwise, the procedure would be more prolonged, more difficult, more dangerous — and certainly far more painful."

"Dreams?"

Phlox understood. "Comatose patients do not experience REM sleep."

That decided the engineer. "Do it," he muttered.

*****

Archer groaned, sat up. His head throbbed, and it felt as if something had crawled into his mouth and died there. Hung over. And how. Well, it wasn't surprising, was it? He'd set out to get loaded, and loaded he had gotten. He had danced last night, and now he was getting to pay the piper. In full. With interest.

A hand, holding a glass, appeared in his field of view. He blinked.

"Try this."

"Damn it, Doc," Archer cried in genuine anguish, "Not so loud!"

Phlox did not reply. Instead, he simply continued to hold the glass out.

Archer groaned, but took the glass and drank, grimacing at its bitter taste.

"All of it," Phlox ordered. "Although after last night, I would be tempted to let you suffer as a warning against over-indulgence. However, Enterprise needs her captain to be fully functional."

Archer gave him a dark look, but complied. "That's got to be the foulest-tasting stuff I've ever had."

"I admit it is somewhat crude, but I think you'll find it quite effective. How are you feeling?"

"My teeth itch," Archer replied irritably. "And my hair hurts."

"You see? You're starting to feel better already!"

Archer glowered at him. Sometimes it was difficult to know if Phlox was being genuine in his responses, or simply sarcastic. "What about Trip?"

"Captain, we will discuss Commander Tucker's situation once you've showered, changed and had breakfast."

Archer sighed, but knew better than to argue; underlying that Denobulan geniality was a will of iron. Suppressing another sigh, he rose.

He hated to admit it, but Phlox was right. A shower, shave and fresh clothes may not have made a new man out of him, but the old one sure as hell felt a lot better.

He looked across the table at Phlox. Chef's scrambled eggs, orange juice and coffee had also played a role in the regenerative process. True to his word, Phlox had refused to discuss any official business while Archer ate. The Captain had chaffed at this, but had reluctantly acquiesced.

Now, sipping his coffee, he leaned back and regarded the portly Denobulan.

"Okay?" he asked.

"I'm sure that you are feeling much better now, Captain," was the response. "It must be preferable to how you felt when you first woke up."

"I'm not worried about me," said Archer with some asperity.

"Perhaps not. But your health is one of my responsibilities."

"And you've fulfilled that responsibility admirably. As far as my physical health, anyhow. But my mental health..."

"Captain?"

"Trip! Will you please tell me what's going on? This not-knowing is driving me crazy!"

The doctor reflected that there was more truth in that statement than the Captain probably realized.

"The Commander is in his quarters," he replied. "He is currently in a state of induced coma. I will keep him that way until I am satisfied that all of the Tasumi drugs have been cleared out of his system and his metabolism returns to normal. It's well you found him when you did," he added. "I doubt if he would have survived much longer. But, as it is, the physical damage is fortunately minimal."

Archer looked unhappy. "No kidding." He took another sip of coffee. "'Induced coma'," he repeated. "Are you sure that's the only way?"

"I am. Otherwise, the process would be prolonged unnecessarily — along with the Commander's physical discomfort."

That decided Archer. "All right. You say he's in his quarters?"

"He is not alone, Captain. He will not be left unattended throughout this. Members of my staff, or I myself, will be with him at all times. Also," he added, "Lieutenant Reed, Ensign Mayweather and Ensign Sato have volunteered their services. Among others."

"Think that might help him?"

Phlox sighed, and he looked downcast. "I don't know, Captain. I would be less than honest if attempted to convince you that the Commander's recovery will be either quick or easy."

Archer stared at him. "But I thought you said the damage was minimal."

"The physical damage, Captain. But the emotional damage is far more severe."

The doctor leaned forward. "You yourself felt shame, anger and disgust over what transpired downplanet. And yet, for you, that was a single incident. Commander Tucker has been in Tasumi hands for many weeks. Imagine what he has had to endure. Not once, but possibly dozens of times. His pain, shame and rage must be overwhelming, to say the least."

"Can you help him?"

"I will certainly do my best. Unfortunately, I have no 'magic pill' that will instantly cure him." At Archer's look, he added, "Oh, I have medications that will help the almost-inevitable depression he will experience. And I will use these tools to the best effect. But his complete recovery will be due to other, less precise methods." He looked evenly at Archer. "And you are going to play a pivotal role in that recovery."

Archer shook his head. "No, not me. I can't. After what happened — I can't face him."

"You are going to have to," Phlox said. He had not raised his voice, but something in his tone stopped Archer cold. "I understand that it will not be easy for either one of you. I will certainly endeavour, myself, to draw the Commander out, but I can almost guarantee that this will not work. You are the only person that he trusts enough to talk to about this."

"Trusted," Archer said, almost inaudibly. "Now? I doubt it."

"If you have lost that trust, Captain, then you must regain it. Otherwise, the Commander's mental health will suffer. The damage may be irretrievable. I will assist and advise you to the best of my ability, but ultimately, I am afraid that the success or failure of this attempt will be solely yours."

"Great," Archer muttered. He sighed. "I'll try."

Phlox shook his head. "No, Captain. To 'try' will not be good enough. You must do this."


	6. Six

No answer. Reed buzzed the door again. Still no response. He tried to open it. Locked. Becoming alarmed, he tried buzzing once more time. Still nothing. He attempted to open it, discovered it was locked. He touched in the key code sequence to open it. Nothing. The code had been changed. Fortunately, he had another option.

He keyed the wall com. "Computer. Security override. Reed. Code: beta, gamma, omega. Four seven two."

There was a click, and the door slid open, and he hurried in.

Commander Tucker's bed was empty. Reed frowned. The Commander had been brought out of his coma only 48 hours previously, and Dr. Phlox had been quite specific in his decree that the engineer remain in bed until further notice.

He heard a faint sound, turned. For the first time, he noticed that the bathroom door was closed. He approached it. Now, he could hear the sound of running water. "Commander?" No answer.

Reed was now quite alarmed. The engineer was not supposed to use the facilities unattended. In his weakened state, he could easily slip, fall and further injure himself.

Reed tried the door. Locked. He swore under his breath, then reached over, and tried the key code. Fortunately, Trip had not thought to change this one. The door slid open.

Reed stared. _Oh, my God_.

Then he was jolted into action. He hurried over to the shower stall where the water was gushing; it had been turned to the highest setting possible. But Trip was not standing under it.

Instead, he was huddled in a corner, arms wrapped around his knees, unaware of the water pouring over him. His blue eyes stared straight ahead. At nothing. At everything.

Reed wondered just how long he had been sitting there. Steam hung heavy in the damp air, and he guessed it had been for quite a while. Quickly he turned off the water, but Trip did not stir. Reed's unease increased.

He took a towel, and approached his friend. At the sound of his footsteps, Trip shrank further into himself.

"Hey, Commander," Reed said, trying to sound calm. Trip flinched. "It's all right. It's only me. Malcolm. See?"

Trip looked up. "Mal —?"

"That's right." Reed reached over. "Here, let me help you —"

Trip dodged Reed's helping hand. He pulled himself upright. Reed tried again, but Trip held both arms out, palms forward, in a gesture of warning so unmistakable that the Lieutenant stopped in his tracks.

"Here's a towel," he said, trying to sound as if nothing out of the ordinary was taking place. "You're sopping."

Slowly, Trip took the towel, wrapped it around his too-thin waist. He had lost a lot of weight during his captivity, and so far had not regained any of it. Not surprising, as he was refusing to eat.

"Come on, Commander," Reed said gently. "Let's get you back to bed." Trip turned, and began to shuffle slowly out of the shower. Reed noted with relief that at least the dressing on his back, where Phlox had removed the Tasumi ownership tattoo, was still in place. He didn't relish the idea of trying to apply a new bandage to Trip when he was in this state.

Trip continued his slow progress. It was obviously a struggle for him to stay upright; he stopped and swayed several times. Finally, he reached his bed, and simply stood there, looking at it.

Reed approached him, another towel in hand. "You'd better dry off first." He then made the mistake of trying to drape the towel over his friend's shoulders.

Trip reacted. With cat-like swiftness, he whirled and pushed Reed away from him, so savagely that the Lieutenant fell. "Don't touch me!" He shrieked, making the short hairs on Reed's arms stand up.

Reed, stunned, looked up from where he had fallen, but remained silent.

"Don't touch me," Trip repeated, in a lower tone of voice.

"I won't," Reed said cautiously. "But you have to dry off, Commander. Then you need to get back into bed."

Slowly, Trip began to towel himself off. While he did so, Reed carefully stood up. He felt as if he were locked in a cage with a man-eating tiger. This was not the Trip Tucker he knew. Considering what Trip must have gone through, it was not surprising he was acting like this. But it did not make him any less dangerous.

Trip finished drying himself. He dropped the towel on the floor, looked uncertainly around.

"Commander," Reed said carefully. When there was no response, he took a step forward.

Trip cringed back at this, and Reed stopped immediately. "I won't hurt you," he promised. "But you need to get back into bed."

Sluggishly, Trip complied. He lay down, pulled the blankets tightly around him.

"Commander," Reed began.

Trip refused to answer. Instead, he turned onto his side, away from his friend. He pulled himself into a fetal position, and lay silently, ignoring Reed.

And stayed that way until Phlox arrived.

*****

"How in hell did this happen?"

Archer looked angrily at Phlox from across Trip's unconscious form. The Denobulan, who looked as downcast as Archer had ever seen him, sighed. "I'm afraid I underestimated Commander Tucker, Captain. He is far cleverer than I had thought."

Standing beside the doctor, Subcommander T'Pol raised one elegant brow. "It was my understanding that you were continuously monitoring him."

Phlox nodded. He left the engineer's bedside and walked across Sickbay to one of the counters, and returned, holding a sensor bracelet, which he handed to T'Pol. "I was. With this."

"The would you care to explain how he managed to drink himself unconscious? Damn it, Doc — he drank half a bottle of scotch! How did the sensors miss that? If Hoshi hadn't stopped by ..." 

Archer still couldn't believe how close they had come to losing Trip. When Hoshi had found him, sprawled on the floor of his quarters, his vital signs had been so low that _Enterprise's_ com officer had thought the chief engineer was dead. Fortunately, she was wrong. Frantic work from Phlox had stabilized him, and Trip was now in Sickbay, still unconscious but out of danger.

T'Pol, studying the bracelet, now spoke. "Ingenious."

Archer swung on her. "I beg your pardon?"

"The Commander's work. Ingenious." Seeing that Archer was uncomprehending, she elaborated. "Not only did he pick the bracelet's magnetic lock, he disabled the alarm it would usually emit when removed." She continued her examination, then added, "And it appears that he programmed it to continue to broadcast false readings even after removal. It is," she stated, handing the bracelet back to Phlox, "very impressive work."

Archer looked soberly at Phlox. "He really meant business, then, didn't he?"

"He certainly was well aware of the fact that alcohol is prohibited while he is on his current medications." Phlox looked at Archer. "One thing is for sure. This man is screaming for help — in the only way he knows how."

"He won't talk about it to you?"

"No. Nor will he talk to Lieutenant Reed, Ensign Mayweather or Ensign Sato. He has shut everyone out."

“I could attempt a mind meld — “ T'Pol began.

Phlox stopped her. “I don't believe that would be wise,” he said kindly. “The Commander's memories are such that I believe he would not wish for you to relive them with him.”

“That is not logical.” 

“Perhaps not,” Phlox said. “But it is the situation.”

"Then perhaps drugs? The Vulcan Medical Database lists a number of drugs that have been successfully used —"

"— on Vulcan patients," Phlox interrupted. "Which may work on Vulcan and with Vulcans, but certainly not here. Not with this patient."

To judge by her expression, T'Pol was genuinely surprised. "I do not understand. You require that the Commander speak of his experiences. Since you will not use telepathy, as would be done on Vulcan, then why not use the tools available? The drugs I am referring to of would compel him to speak without any physical after-effects."

"That's the problem," Archer said. "Compel."

"Human psychology is vastly different from Vulcan, Subcommander," Phlox added. "I'm surprised I have to remind you of this. The Commander must speak of this of his own free will. To force him to relive his experiences would only harm him more."

Archer could see that T'Pol was still having trouble understanding. "Look at it this way," he said quietly. "Trip has already been violated physically. Are you really suggesting that he be mentally raped as well?"

T'Pol winced slightly at the word "rape", then considered the Captain's remarks. "I see," she finally said. "I regret suggesting this, Captain. In my haste to find a solution, I made the error of applying Vulcan values and methods to a human situation. I apologize."

"You were trying to help," Archer told her. "You had good intentions, and that's what matters in the long run."

"Good intentions aside," said Phlox, "we still have a problem."

Archer sighed. "You're certainly right about that. It's obvious we can't let him remain alone in his quarters. God knows what he'll try next. But I'm not sure that Sickbay is the right place for him, either."

"I agree," Phlox said. "The Commander needs someplace private and safe. But not by himself." And he gave Archer a long, measuring look.

The Captain sighed again. "I know what you're getting at, Doc, but ..."

"Ensign Roman's quarters are not in use. Not since she moved in with Ensign Frederick." T'Pol said.

Archer stared. "I must be slow on the uptake today. You think we should put Trip in Elizabeth Roman's quarters?"

"No. But Lieutenant James is willing to relocate to Roman's quarters."

"Oh, of course. James' quarters are right next to mine."

"Indeed. And I believe that it will not take Engineering long to remove the wall between them."

"Right. Well, carry on, Subcommander. And have all of Trip's things moved in, once the work is done, will you?"

"Very well, Captain." And she exited Sickbay.

Archer waited until she had left, then turned to Phlox. "Are you really sure this is such a good idea? Me? And Trip? Considering what went on downplanet ..."

"You must get past that, Captain," Phlox replied. There was a bite of impatience in his voice.

Archer tried to explain. "It's just that I don't know what to say to him."

"Have you spoken to him at all?"

Archer looked away. "Not really," he muttered.

"And how do you think the Commander feels about that?"

"Relieved, I would imagine."

“Why would you say that?”

Archer studied the floor. The doctor waited while the silence spun out between them. Finally, Archer sighed. “I didn't tell you what happened on the shuttlepod,” he finally said.

“Do you want to tell me now?”

“Not really, but I guess I'd better.” 

>   
> _At last. It seemed like it had taken forever for them to first bring the damned litter and then carry him over to the shuttlepod. He had insisted that Trip be placed in the litter with him; protocol be damned. He didn't care whether it offended anyone or not; by now he figured that his hosts would understand that when it came to Trip, Captain Archer was a little bit of an eccentric._
> 
> _He dismounted from the litter, tipped the bearers generously, and turned to Al-Saahn. “Tell your Master and Mistress how pleasantly this evening has passed. You have done well by them.” And he took one of the jewels that he wore and pressed it into the man's hand. “For caring for my pet.” He held the man's gaze with his own. “For I think we shall not meet again.” The Volashan's House Master did not reply; he simply bowed._
> 
> __
> 
> _Archer picked Trip up and carried him to the pod. He nodded curtly to one of the servants, who activated the door, and he took the engineer inside, laid him on one of the benches, and shut the door. At last._
> 
> __
> 
> _He started the engines, and watched as the retinue backed off to a safe distance. He hit the thrusters and the pod leaped eagerly off the ground and flung itself into the sky. He set the course and called Enterprise, alerting Hoshi that he was on his way with Trip._
> 
> __
> 
> _“Thank God,” she said. “Do you need anything?”_
> 
> __
> 
> _“Have Phlox meet us, okay?”_
> 
> __
> 
> _He heard a sharp intake of breath. “Of course, Captain. Is -- “_
> 
> __
> 
> _“I'll talk to you later,” he said abruptly. “Archer out.” He didn't want to discuss Trip on an open channel._
> 
> __
> 
> _He took a blanket from a compartment and went over to the younger man, stood over him, started to cover him. Trip opened his eyes, saw the Captain standing over him._
> 
> __
> 
> _And started to scream._
> 
> __  
> 

“He had hysterics,” Archer finished. “That's the only way to describe it, Doc. I've never seen anything like it. He wouldn't let me near him — he fought me and I think he would have hurt himself if he hadn't fainted again. So I know he's terrified of me.”

Phlox shook his head. "I don't know about that, Captain, but I know what he thinks you think of him.” At Archer's inquiring look, he added, “He thinks you're disgusted by him." 

Archer stared. "What? Where the hell would he get an idea like that? Damn it — I can't imagine how he managed to survive down there! They ought to give him a medal just for living through the whole thing! Disgust? Not in a million years!" He broke off, shook his head, then stared at Phlox. "I thought you said he wasn't talking to you?" 

"He's been talking in his sleep," Phlox said. "Enough for me to make some educated guesses." 

Archer sighed. “I know I frighten him. I know it.” 

“Then you must reassure him, Captain. You must regain his trust.” 

"How can I when he's afraid of me?” 

“You will find a way, Captain. I know it.” 

Archer looked ruefully at the doctor. "Wish I shared that faith." 


	7. Seven

"Here we are," said Phlox cheerfully.

Trip looked up, mildly surprised. He had expected that Phlox would have taken him down to his own room, but instead they were in front of the Captain's quarters. Phlox buzzed, and the Captain himself opened the door.

"Here's your new roommate, Captain," the doctor said cheerfully.

"I've been waiting. Come on in."

"What's going on?" Trip asked. Both Phlox and the Captain looked at him in pleased surprise. This was as much as Trip had said in a week.

"New set-up, Trip," Archer replied, doing his best to sound casual.

"You're going to stay with the Captain for a while, Commander."

"We don't want you getting into any more mischief," Archer added lightly.

Trip did not look entirely pleased by this prospect, but he did not protest. Passively, he allowed Phlox to help him out of the wheelchair and into his — their — quarters.

Trip looked around, mildly surprised at the change. It appeared that the Captain's quarters had suddenly doubled in size. He looked questioningly at Archer, who smiled.

"Lieutenant James has moved to Ensign Roman's quarters for a while."

"Where's Liz?"

"She moved in with Deborah Frederick," Phlox told him.

"Finally," Trip murmured.

Archer and Phlox exchanged an amused glance. "Yes, it did take them long enough, didn't it, Commander?" Phlox asked.

Trip did not respond. Suppressing a sigh, Archer watched as Phlox guided him over to the new section. All of Trip's books, pictures and other personal effects were already in place.

"Home away from home," the Captain told him. "Want you to be as comfortable as possible."

Trip looked around, nodded very slightly. He swayed slightly, and the doctor caught him. "Maybe you should lay down," Archer said anxiously.

"Are you tired, Commander?" Phlox asked.

Trip nodded in response. Suddenly, he wasn't just tired — he was exhausted. He was sleeping as long as 18 hours a day, and he still felt as if he hadn't slept at all. Phlox had been spouting a lot of psychiatric mumbo-jumbo at him as to why, but he really didn't care. All he knew was that he felt like hell and wanted to lie down.

The bed was made up for him, and Trip noted that it was not a regular bunk. He looked at Phlox. "You'll be more comfortable in an adjustable bed," the doctor said, answering his unasked question. He turned to the captain. “If you will ...”

Archer approached the engineer as he would a wild animal. “Let's put you to bed,” he said quietly, and was relieved when Trip did not flinch away. He put a light hand on Trip's arm, helped him in. "There you go," he said gently.

Trip lay between the crisp clean sheets, and watched as Phlox pulled a couple of heavy blankets over him. "All right?" the doctor asked. Trip nodded in response. That was another problem — he couldn't seem to keep warm enough lately.

"There are more blankets in the closet if you need them," Archer told him.

Phlox went into the bathroom, came out with a glass of water and a pill.

"Here," he said. Trip hesitated. "A mild sedative," the doctor assured him. "Quite harmless, but it will help you rest."

When he still hesitated, Archer added lightly, "Doctor's orders, Trip. And mine, too."

He took the pill and drank the water.

"Comfortable?" the Captain asked him.

"Yes, sir," he murmured.

"Good. Then go to sleep, Trip, and I'll see you in the morning."

***

Laughter. Applause. Faces, staring up at him. And from behind, hands. Hot hands, eager hands, greedy hands, groping, grabbing, touching hands. He couldn't move. Couldn't escape. All he could do was endure. Endure the humiliation. Endure the violations. Endure the pain — and pleasure — being forced upon him. Despite himself he moaned, then cried out. This brought a fresh wave of laughter and applause from the audience. He couldn't bear it any longer. _Please ... make it stop ... no more ... please ..._

"Trip! Trip!" A voice he knew. He awoke with a jerk, and found himself in his new quarters. He trembled, and drew the blankets around himself, looked over to see the Captain sitting on the edge of his bed.

"You were having one hell of a bad dream," Archer explained. "I figured I'd better wake you up."

Trip shivered again. "Thanks," he whispered. "Sorry I woke you."

"Don't worry about me," Archer told him. The Captain got up, went over into his living area. For the first time, Trip noticed that a small refrigeration unit sat against one wall, and a microwave oven was on top of that. Archer got a glass of something out of the fridge, put it in the microwave, and a moment later, came back to Trip's bedside, carrying a glass of hot milk. "Sometimes the old ways are best," he told Trip, and handed him the glass.

Trip propped himself up on one elbow, considered the milk. "Drink up," Archer said lightly. "That's an order, by the way."

Slowly, Trip obeyed. When he was finished, Archer took the glass from him, and Trip lay back down. The Captain remained seated on the side of his bed.

"Want to tell me about it?" he asked softly.

Trip shook his head. He couldn't.

"Although I have to say, I already have a pretty good idea what it was," Archer told him.

Trip was silent. He wasn't sure how he should think or feel about things. Him here with the Captain, and all the rest of it. Considering his last encounter with Archer ... He sighed.

"I'm sorry, Trip," the Captain then said. "I've let you down pretty badly. I just hope I can make it up to you."

Trip was startled into speech. "Captain?"

"After what happened ..." Archer elaborated. "I couldn't deal." A rueful smile creased his features. "You know, I told Malcolm and T'Pol that I would do whatever it took to get you out of there. I wasn't happy about it, but I was confident that I could deal with it. And I was wrong."

Trip stared at him. "I don't understand."

"I've been, well, _embarrassed_ , damn it. To put it mildly. And because of that, I've avoided facing you, because every time I do, all I can think about is what went on. It's pretty cowardly of me, isn't it? I'm sorry, Trip."

Trip considered this. "You got me out of there," he pointed out.

"But look what I had to do to you. Trip — believe me — I hated that. I would have given anything not to have had to play their sick games. To use you like that ..." he shook his head. “I don't blame you, you know. I would have acted the same way. And I haven't known what to say to you to help you." He looked at his friend. "Except I don't know how you managed to survive down there. I think you deserve a god damned medal."

"Thanks," Trip said faintly. He looked puzzled. “You don't blame me? You don't think I'm ...?” He couldn't finish.

"I don't think you're anything — except one brave son of a bitch," was Archer's response. "And I also think I'd like to bomb the Tasumi back to the stone age. Too bad Forrest said 'no' to that one."

Trip looked alarmed. "Starfleet?"

Archer understood. "You were kidnapped and tortured. That's all they know. That's all the crew knows, too. How they tortured you — not important."

Trip looked relieved. "I shouldn't ..." he looked at Archer. "Phlox says it's not my fault. But... I'm ashamed. I feel dirty."

"Phlox is right. You've got nothing to be ashamed of. And as for feeling dirty — that's natural, Trip. Most rape victims feel that way." Trip winced at the blunt word, but Archer continued. "But you're not. I hope you'll come to understand that eventually." He smiled again. "I hope that you'll be able to forgive me, too. And maybe some day ...”

Trip thought about it. "It is awkward," he admitted.

"I know," said Archer. "But I'm willing to try. How about you?"

Trip nodded.

"Good," Archer said. "We'll just take it one day at a time, okay?"

"Now you sound like Phlox," Trip responded.

Archer shrugged. "'Denobulanism'. Catching, I guess."

Trip smiled, very faintly and very briefly. But it was still a smile, and inwardly, Archer rejoiced. But all he said was, "You'd better try and get some sleep, Trip. Otherwise, the good doctor will have my hide."

Trip nodded again. He pulled his blankets up over himself. "'Night, Captain."

"Good night, Trip." He was tempted to add, 'pleasant dreams', but decided against it. _I'll just settle for no more nightmares._


	8. Eight

Archer slipped quietly into his dim, silent quarters. He had to constantly remind himself that in his present condition, Trip would not welcome his usual crash-and-bang entrance.

He looked into Trip's area. The younger man was sleeping, curled on his side. Porthos, was, as usual, snuggled up against him.

Since Archer had acquired his new roommate, Porthos had taken it upon himself to act as Trip's canine guardian angel. Aside from "walkies" and meals, the beagle rarely, if ever, left Trip's bed.

Initially, Archer had been concerned by this. But Phlox's reaction — one of utter delight — had reassured the Captain. The doctor had explained that his research had show that "animal based therapy" — as he called it — was very helpful with humans. Animals were often able to get responses from otherwise withdrawn individuals when all other avenues had failed.

"I had not taken Porthos' presence into my initial therapeutic plan," Phlox had told Archer. "An oversight. One that I will definitely remedy. Porthos will be very helpful, Captain."

The beagle looked up, saw his "daddy". His tail thumped against the mattress.

"Hey, there," Archer said softly. "Have a good day?"

Porthos' tail thumped harder. Archer crossed over, and gave his furry friend a pat, then fondly rubbed the silky ears. "Did you take good care of Trip today?" He stroked the dog's head. "You're an good nurse, aren't you?" Judging by the way Porthos' tail was wagging, it was a safe bet that the beagle agreed with that estimation.

Trip shifted slightly, and sighed in his sleep, but did not waken. Archer supposed that this was an improvement. For the first few days, Trip had jerked into a frightened wakefulness every time there was a sound. But it appeared that the younger man was becoming used to his new surroundings. Or possibly he was soothed by the presence of Porthos. Or both. Or neither. Who the hell knew?

The door buzzed, and Trip murmured in his sleep. Not wanting to wake him, Archer hurried to the door.

It was Hoshi. "Admiral Forrest sent you this," she said, handing him a transmission disk. "Said you were expecting it."

"Yes, I am. Thanks, Hoshi."

"The Admiral also said to tell you — he hopes it'll help." Her voice rose on a slightly interrogative note.

"Thanks," Archer repeated.

Hoshi looked past him towards Trip. "He sleeping?"

Archer nodded in response.

She sighed. "He was sleeping when I checked on him during my break, too." She looked at the Captain. "He's sleeping an awful lot, isn't he?"

"I know. And it worries me, too. But remember what Phlox said."

Hoshi nodded. Despite the fact that Phlox had Trip on the maximum safe dosage of antidepressants, they didn't seem to be making much difference. Trip was still apathetic and withdrawn, and slept for as long as 18 hours a day. Phlox had told them that it might take as long as a month before there was any noticeable difference.

"I remember."

"So we'll just have to deal with it as best we can. And wait."

She sighed again. "Chef said to tell you that he didn't eat his breakfast. Again. And he was sleeping when Cunningham brought him his lunch, and since you said not to wake him up..."

"Thanks, Hoshi," Archer said, gently but firmly cutting off the flow of her worried chatter. "I know that already. But thanks anyhow for telling me. I appreciate it."

She smiled, contritely. "Sorry, Captain. I know I'm just babbling. But it's just that ... everyone ... we're all so worried about him." She looked over again to where Trip lay sleeping. "If there's anything I can do, please, let me know. I'll be so happy to help."

"I know, Hoshi. And I appreciate it. I really do. And if I do need anything, I'll give you a call. But right now, I think the best thing we can do is to let Trip get some sleep."

She nodded. "Tell him I said 'hello'."

"I certainly will. Goodnight, Hoshi."

"'Night, Captain."

Archer nodded, and closed the door behind her.

He then looked at the disk in his hand. "Well," he said to it, "let's see if you will be of any use."

Porthos barked. Loudly. "All right, all right," Archer said with mock exasperation. "I'll get you your dinner." Porthos yapped again, repeating his request. "You're a regular alarm clock, aren't you?" The beagle gave another woof; presumably he was agreeing with the Captain's observation.

Trip murmured in his sleep, then turned and awoke.

"Sorry, Trip," Archer said, keeping his voice light. "But when he wants to eat ..." He shrugged.

Trip nodded, knuckled the sleep out of his eyes, and watched as Porthos, his tail wagging with pleasure and excitement, leaped off the bed and ran to his supper dish. A few quick gulps and the beagle's dinner was gone. He looked up at Archer and wagged his tail in contentment.

"Did he even taste that?" Trip asked wonderingly.

"I doubt it."

Trip nodded, then lay back and looked at the ceiling. Archer sighed inwardly. It was all so damned difficult. The two of them were still tip-toeing around each other. Each was acutely aware what had transpired on the Tasumi homeworld, and the memory of those events hung between them like a barrier. Their conversation, once easy and relaxed, was now formal, awkward and stilted. When they did speak, that is. Most of the time Trip slept, or pretended he was sleeping, when Archer was around. As for his part, Archer would spend the evening reading. Or pretending to read.

However, a short and extremely to the point conversation that the Captain had had with the ship's doctor earlier in the day had made it quite clear that this was not to continue. So, mentally gritting his teeth, Archer plowed on. It would be so much easier to pretend to read, just as he was sure Trip would prefer to pretend he was asleep. But Phlox was right; to do so would simply prolong the misery.

He went over to Trip's bedside. "Hey," he said lightly. "Got something for you, too."

When Trip didn't reply, the Captain was tempted to just forget about it tonight. But remembering what Phlox had said, he continued, difficult as it was. "Think you're up to sitting up for a while? On the couch?"

Trip thought about it. "Guess so." He sounded anything but enthusiastic at the idea, but Archer didn't let that stop him. He held out his hand. "Come on, then."

Slowly, Trip sat up, took his hand. The Captain had a momentary flashback of leading Trip by the hand into that wretched room downplanet. He was tempted to ignore this, but decided not to, and prayed he was making the right decision.

"Sorry, Trip." At the questioning look he received, he explained. "I just remembered. I took you by the hand down there, too." He didn't elaborate, but Trip understood.

The younger man thought about this. "I know." He looked up. "Feels strange, doesn't it?"

"It does at that," Archer agreed. "We've always been close — but we've never been that close."

Trip managed a faint smile at this, and Archer rejoiced inwardly. Every smile, no matter how tremulous or brief, was a victory.

Trip stood, swayed slightly.

"Dizzy?"

"A little."

"Take it easy," the Captain said. "One step at a time." He smothered a smile when he realized that, inadvertently, he was describing their own personal journey as well.

The engineer slowly made his way into the living room. He allowed his Captain to place a supporting hand on his shoulder. He wasn't relaxed, but at least he was permitting the touch without flinching away. It wasn't much, but it was a start, and Archer was not about to ignore any progress, no matter how little.

Trip sank onto the couch with a sigh of relief. "Put your feet up," Archer told him, "and relax."

Trip obeyed to the extent of putting his feet up, but it was highly doubtful that he was relaxed. He watched as Archer went to the linen closet, came back with blankets and pillows. A moment later, Trip had pillows supporting his back, and a blanket covering his thin form. Porthos jumped up and settled at his feet, obviously intending to remain there.

"Doesn't want to leave you alone," was the Captain's comment. "Seems to have appointed himself your private nurse."

"Does a good job," Trip agreed. "I don't mind."

Archer then held up the disk he had received from Forrest. "Guess what this is," he said. "Forrest sent it earlier today."

"Water polo."

"Nope."

Trip looked faintly surprised. "It's not?"

Archer shook his head. "Take another guess."

"A new movie?"

"Wrong again."

"Sorry, Captain — I'm stumped."

Archer tossed him the disk. Trip caught it, looked at the label. "You're kidding!"

"That's three times in a row you've been wrong."

"The Bucs? And the Bears?"

"Right. Game played last week."

"Wow."

"Think you'd like to find out who won?"

"Do you have to ask?"

*****

"He was in!" Trip said heatedly.

"No way," Archer replied. "That guy was so far out, he was practically in the parking lot!"

"Both you and the ref need glasses," was Trip's retort.

Archer smiled despite himself. This was the first glimpse of the old Trip he'd seen in a long, long time. "I'm not going to argue with you," he told his friend loftily.

"That's because you'd lose."

"It's all moot anyhow," Archer reminded him. "The game's been over for a week. At least."

Trip subsided. "But still," he complained. "It was a stupid call."

The half-time show started, and right on schedule, his buzzer rang. Trip looked up, questioning, as the Captain went to the door. It turned out to be Cunningham, carrying a tray. "With Chef's compliments, sir."

"Tell Chef thanks."

The Captain returned, carrying a covered tray, which he then set down in front of Trip. The engineer looked up at him. "What's this?"

"From Chef."

Trip lifted the lid. "Milk and cookies?"

"Got a problem with that?"

"No — but what's Phlox going to say?"

Archer shrugged elaborately. "What he doesn't know won't hurt him." He wasn't about to spoil Trip's enjoyment by telling him that the cookies had been made to meet specific nutritional standards that Phlox himself had set out. "Chef baked these himself," he added. This, at least, was the truth.

"So I guess I'd better eat them, is that what you're saying?"

Archer simply smiled in response. Trip reached over, took a cookie. He chewed.

"Good," he mumbled through a mouthful. Archer then handed him the glass. Trip took a sip. "Milkshake," he said with some surprise.

"Good?"

"Yeah." He looked at the Captain. "What about you?"

"It's okay. You go ahead."

"You sure?"

"Chef baked these for you." And watching as Trip enjoyed his cookies and watched the game, he thought that, for the moment at least, all was well.

*****

Archer sat up with a jerk and fumbled for the light. Trip was crying in his sleep — great, gasping sobs. The Captain hurried over to him. Porthos, curled at the bottom of Trip's bed, looked up at his "daddy" and whined worriedly. "I know," Archer told the beagle. "I get scared when he does that, too."

Now Trip was thrashing about in his sleep, crying out in fear. Archer placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. Trip, even in sleep, shrank away from the touch.

"Trip!" Archer called softly. "Trip — it's all right. You're safe."

The younger man sat up with a start, his eyes wild and afraid. He looked around, and when he realized that he was indeed safe aboard _Enterprise_ , he exhaled, but still trembled like a rabbit caught in a snare.

Silently, he arose, stumbled into the bathroom. When he returned a few minutes later, Archer was still waiting for him. He sat down on his bed, stared straight ahead at nothing. Carefully, Archer sat down beside him. "Sounded pretty bad."

Trip simply nodded.

"Want to tell me about it?"

Trip shook his head. Suppressing a sigh, Archer placed a gentle hand on his friend's shoulder. Trip flinched, but the Captain did not remove his hand.

"You can't run forever, you know. Sooner or later, your demons are going to catch up with you."

Trip looked at him. "I just want you to know," Archer continued, "that I'm here. And I'll listen to whatever you have to say. And it will stay between us. I promise."

Trip looked away again. Archer tightened his grip on his shoulder. Then carefully, gently, he pulled Trip to him, until the engineer was leaning up against him. "It's all right," Archer repeated gently. He could feel the younger man trembling. "I'm not going to hurt you. But I don't think you should be alone right now."

Trip sighed tremulously, closed his eyes. A single tear leaked down one cheek.

"Oh, God," he said. "I'm just so tired."


	9. Nine

Archer walked down the corridor, carrying the package that Phlox had given him. He was doubtful, to say the least, that this was going to be of any use. But when it came to medical matters, Phlox's authority was absolute, and the Captain of the _Enterprise_ was obliged to obey.

He opened the door to his quarters, stepped through, and was pleasantly surprised to find Trip asleep on the couch, with Porthos, as usual, at his feet.

After what had seemed to be a breakthrough of the other night, Trip had shut back down again. Even though Phlox had warned him that this would happen, Archer had been disappointed. The younger man had retreated back to his bed, and back into himself. He was silent, speaking only when spoken to, and even then responded only in monosyllables. Not that he was awake often enough for conversations; he was back to sleeping 18 hours a day.

"Give him time," Phlox had counselled. So Archer had found himself spending his evenings watching sports, using headphones so as not to disturb his slumbering roommate. Or, alternatively, he worked on an interactive computer program Phlox had set up, playing "therapist" to the computer's "patient". These cyber-sessions were tough going, but Archer continued to slog grimly through them. Better to practice on a pile of chips and micro-processors than on actual flesh-and-blood. Phlox was, in his own way, encouraging; he had paid Archer a back-handed compliment by telling the Captain that he was doing far better than the doctor would have expected. Archer found this to be of limited comfort; he constantly worried that Trip would pay — and dearly — for any missteps on his part.

The engineer had fallen asleep while watching one of the old movies he loved so much. Archer smiled. _Star Wars_. Escapism plus. He would have preferred to discover that Trip was starting to take an interest in what was happening aboard _Enterprise_ , but he wasn't about to reject any signs of progress, no matter how slight.

Archer put the package on his desk, and considered his friend. He hated to disturb him, but Trip's head was at an odd angle, and if he continued to sleep that way, he was going to end up with one hell of a stiff neck. "Porthos," he said. The beagle whined, but obediently jumped off the couch. He did not go to his own little bed, but instead stretched out on the floor beside the couch.

Archer took his place at the end of the couch. "Trip," he said. The younger man shifted and murmured in his sleep. "Trip," he repeated, slightly louder this time.

Trip awoke with a start. He looked around, saw Archer's gaze on him. He swallowed nervously, and pulled his blanket around him protectively.

"Sorry to wake you," Archer told him in a gentle tone. "But I didn't want you to wake up with a sore neck. The way you were sleeping, you would have."

"Okay," Trip whispered in response.

"Come on," the Captain told him. "You'll be more comfortable in your own bed."

The engineer allowed Archer to help him to his feet, and lead him to his bed.

Archer looked at the package on his desk. Well, this was as good a time as any, he supposed. Trip got into bed, and lay quietly, staring at the ceiling, avoiding Archer's gaze.

The older man went to his desk, undid the package. He brought out one of the vials Phlox had given him, and considered it. He found all of this to be disturbingly similar to the events that transpired downplanet. However, when he had pointed this out to the doctor, Phlox had blandly agreed, but insisted that he follow instructions nonetheless.

Suppressing a sigh, he walked back over to Trip's bedside. "Trip," he said quietly, "I need you to roll over."

The engineer looked fearfully at him. "Captain?"

"Doctor's orders."

"I don't understand."

"He wants you to start massage therapy," Archer explained. He then showed Trip the vial. "Muscle relaxant," he assured him. "That's all."

Trip regarded it narrowly. "Why not just give me a shot?"

_Why not indeed_ , Archer thought. It was a damned good question. He'd asked Phlox the same one. "It's time for the Commander to begin to trust you again, " had been the doctor's reply. "And non-threatening tactile contact will facilitate that process."

"He wouldn't say," Archer lied. "You know the medical profession—they love to be mysterious."

He hoped that this would at least coax a smile from the engineer, but no such luck. Trip continued to study the vial with a mixture of fear and suspicion.

"Come on," the Captain told him. "Unless you want Phlox to drag you down to Sickbay and have him do it."

That decided Trip. "Okay," he sighed.

"All right, " Archer said. "Take your top off." Trip froze at this, and despite himself, his eyes were wide and terrified.

Archer cursed his stupidity. How could he have expected Trip to take that any other way? He sat on the bedside. "Sorry," he said, kindly. "But I can't rub this stuff on you through fabric, you know."

Trip swallowed.

"Here," the Captain said, "let me." Carefully, he unbuttoned Trip's pyjama top.

The younger man lay passively. He didn't fight Archer, but it was clear that he was tense and frightened. Archer was tempted to simply give up, but he knew that if he did, Phlox would have his head on a platter. Trusting that the doctor knew what the hell he was doing, he continued.

He slipped the top off. Trip was so thin! Archer could easily count all the engineer's ribs. When he was upset, Trip stopped eating, and right now, he was barely taking in enough calories to stay alive. Phlox was giving him vitamin/mineral shots, and Archer continued to feed him protein shakes, but that was all. However, the Captain remained silent. He knew that saying anything about this would not help right now. Instead, he said genially, "There. Over you go."

Slowly, Trip obeyed. He lay on his stomach, hands clenching the sheets. Archer undid the top of the vial. "Okay," he said, remembering Phlox's instructions to talk Trip through the procedure. "I'm going to put some of the relaxant on now. I'll start on your neck." He carefully allowed a few drops to fall on Trip's neck. "How does that feel?"

"Warm," was the timid response.

"Good," said Archer. "Now, I'm going to start to rub it into your neck muscles. I know it's scary for you," he continued, "but try and relax. All I'm going to do is give you a massage. That's all. Okay?"

"All right," Trip whispered. "I'll try."

"Good." And he began to gently rub the medication into his friend's neck, using the small, circular motions that Phlox had taught him. "How's that? You okay?"

Trip nodded.

"Good. Now I'm going to put some on your shoulders. Ready?"

Slowly, carefully, he continued, working his way down Trip's back, talking to him, reassuring him the entire time. He finished up at the engineer's too-thin waist. "There," he said. "Finished." He didn't add, "for today." Phlox had said that eventually, he hoped that Archer would be able to give Trip a full-body massage. In time. But for now, getting the young man to relax to the extent of allowing a back rub would be sufficient.

"Wasn't so bad, now, was it?"

Trip shook his head.

"Did it help?"

Trip thought about it. "A little," he finally said.

Well, that's a start, Archer thought. Aloud, he asked, "Think you could sleep now?"

Trip looked slightly surprised. "Yeah," he admitted. "Maybe this stuff is really working, after all."

"Good." Trip rolled onto his back, and Archer helped him back into his pyjama top, buttoned it up. Trip submitted, like a small child being readied for bedtime. Archer gave him what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “See – that wasn't so scary now, was it?” 

Trip looked at him and Archer thought he saw confusion in those blue eyes. But all he said was, “No, it wasn't too bad at all.”

Archer smiled, gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Great. Now hit the sack."

Trip obeyed, lying back and closing his eyes. In a very short time, he was fast asleep. Gently, Archer pulled the blankets up over him.

_Sleep well, my friend. And for tonight — no dreams._

******

Trip sat up with a jerk. He was trembling from head to foot. The dreams...he ran a shaking hand through his hair. _Just once, I'd like to sleep the night through._

The light snapped on. Trip looked up as the Captain came over to him. "Sorry to wake you, Captain."

"It's all right, Trip," was the now-familiar response. Archer went to the fridge, and few moments later, returned with the usual glass of hot milk. Trip reflected that the Captain had a touching faith in the efficacy of this remedy. He sighed; he found it difficult to share the Captain's belief.

"What's wrong?"

_It's a long list_ , Trip thought wryly. He sighed again. "I don't think this," he said, referring to the milk, "is going to work. I'm wide awake." He looked up at the older man. "You don't have to stay up, though."

"Don't be an idiot," said Archer crisply. "You think I'm going to let you sit alone, staring into the dark?" He held out a hand. "Come on."

Reluctantly, Trip obeyed. Part of him wanted to stay, cocooned in the safety of his bed, but another part of him — a larger part — needed the company.

He allowed Archer to lead him into the living room, with Porthos following close behind. He sat on the couch, and Archer sat beside him. Porthos jumped up, and laid his head in Trip's lap. Trip absently stroked the dog's head with one hand, while staring at the glass of milk he still had in the other.

"It was pretty bad," Archer said. It was a statement, not a question.

Trip nodded. There was no sense in denying it. Archer sighed. "Want to tell me about it?"

No, he didn't. And yet ... He continued to stare at his milk.

"Trip," the Captain said, very gently. "Why not tell me what you can? You can stop anytime you want. I won't push you."

Trip sighed. "Where do I start?"

"How about the beginning?" Archer suggested. Trip looked at him. "During shore leave."

Trip sighed again. It was an act of surrender.

> _Trip wandered down the cobblestone streets of the Old City, enjoying the feel of sunlight on his shoulders. He'd spent the morning doing the usual touristy things, taking pictures, checking out historical buildings and generally having a good time. He was due to meet up with Malcolm later on that afternoon, but he still had time for lunch, and his stomach informed him that it had been kept waiting long enough._
> 
> _He found a sidewalk cafe, sat and ordered. While he ate, he read more about the planet from the information available from the Vulcan database. He was interested to learn that there was a vast network of coral-like caves off the coast. He knew he'd never get Malcolm to agree to go diving, but the Captain liked to dive..._
> 
> _A shadow fell over him. He looked up to see a tall, beautiful woman standing over him. She looked vaguely Vulcan, with slanted brows, dark hair and emerald green eyes. But the smile she was wearing was anything but Vulcan. "You're new to the city?" she asked._
> 
> _"Just visiting," he said._
> 
> _"May I?" He nodded, and she sat._
> 
> _"I'm Trip Tucker," he offered._
> 
> _"Zirella," was her response. She looked at the data padd he was reading. "You are looking for information?"_
> 
> _Trip nodded. "First time here," he said. "Got any suggestions?"_
> 
> _She smiled again, but didn't answer him directly. Instead, she hailed a passing waiter. "Two of whatever my friend here is having," she ordered._
> 
> _"Oh, that's not necessary," Trip protested, all of his gentlemanly instincts aroused._
> 
> _"I insist," she replied. "It's not ever day I see a pair of beautiful blue eyes here."_
> 
> _Trip could feel himself blush. "Thanks," he managed._
> 
> _They chatted idly over their drinks for a while. Trip regretfully noted the time. Malcolm would wring his neck if he was late, and Trip did not want to mar his shore leave by arguing with the armoury officer. "I'm sorry," he told Zirella, "but I have to go."_
> 
> _"No apologies are necessary." She smiled at him._
> 
> _"Perhaps we'll run into each other again," he said._
> 
> _She smiled again. "Perhaps."_   
> 

Trip looked at Archer. "The best I can figure is, she must have doped my drink. I wasn't drinking anything alcoholic. Pretty good sleight-of-hand on her part. I never noticed."

Archer gave him a sympathetic squeeze of the shoulder in reply. Trip sipped his milk, then continued.

>   
> _He started down one of the narrow streets. He was already late, and he could just hear Malcolm's dry, acerbic tones. "Still haven't learned to tell time, Commander?" And then a long lecture on punctuality would inevitably follow, peppered with a few remarks about the deplorable (still) state of American educational standards. Wishing to avoid as much of that as possible, he hurried along, then suddenly stopped._
> 
> _He was feeling quite strange — like he'd had one too many to drink. Except all he'd been drinking was the local version of iced tea. The street was now definitely tilting upwards at an odd angle. He had time to think, dazedly, What the hell? And then he was able to think no more._
> 
> _He awoke, barefoot, in a small, bare, windowless room. Slowly he sat up, looked around. Dull grey walls, ceiling and floor met his view. The floor was vibrating, and Trip easily identified the vibrations as that being caused by warp flight. About warp 3, he guessed._
> 
> _He looked around again. He wasn't on_ Enterprise, _that was for sure. He frowned. The last thing he remembered was walking down a street of the Old City._
> 
> _The door opened, and two very large and very well-armed humanoid males entered. One of them grabbed Trip by the arm, pulled him to his feet, and indicated quite clearly that he was to accompany them. He struggled, and the other raised an arm, ready to strike him._
> 
> _"Stop that, you fool." It was Zirella. She was followed by a tall man who, based on the strong resemblance he bore to her, was probably a close relative._
> 
> _He confirmed that. "You heard my sister."_
> 
> _The guard stopped._
> 
> _"What's going on here?" Trip demanded._
> 
> _His demand was ignored. Instead, the alien man looked him up and down in an appraising manner that made Trip very uneasy. "For once, you were not exaggerating, Zirella," he said to her._
> 
> _She laughed. "I thought you would agree." She smiled at Trip. "My brother Arex tends to be somewhat cynical about my finds."_
> 
> _"Not this time, dear sister," Arex said. "Not at all."_
> 
> _Zirella nodded to the guards. "Bring him."_
> 
> _"Hey!" Trip protested. No one listened to him. Instead, he was literally dragged out of his cell and down the hall. Arex and Zirella sauntered behind._
> 
> _"My dear sister — must you insist on sampling the merchandise? Again?"_
> 
> _"Don't tell me you're planning to refrain?"_
> 
> _And they both laughed._   
> 

Trip shivered slightly. Archer kept carefully quiet. The engineer took another sip of milk, looked at the glass, and sighed again. He ran a distracted hand through his longer-than-usual hair. Then, squaring his shoulders, he continued.

> _He was dragged into another room, one that was much more luxurious than his barren cell, and which was dominated by a large bed._
> 
> _Zirella followed him in, while Arex stood at the door. "Ladies first," he smirked, and left._
> 
> _"Just what the hell is going on here?" Trip demanded. "You can't --"_
> 
> _"Shut up," Zirella ordered. "I didn't bring you here to talk."_
> 
> _She gave him another one of those long, appraising looks. "Take your clothes off."_
> 
> _He gaped at her._
> 
> _"Are you deaf?"_
> 
> _"I'll be goddamned if I do!" he snarled in response._
> 
> _She sighed theatrically. "Just once," she said to no one in particular, "I'd like someone to do as they're told." She nodded to the guard, who produced a hypospray, and injected him._
> 
> _"Must have been some sort of neural agent," Trip said. "I couldn't move. Felt like a dime store dummy."_

Archer nodded. "Must have been pretty frightening," he said.

"No kidding." He took another sip of his milk.

> _Paralysed, all he could do was watch as the guards quickly and efficiently stripped him bare. Then Zirella walked around him. "Oh, yes," she said. "I was right."_
> 
> _She nodded to the guards, and Trip found himself on the bed, tied hand and foot. Even if he hadn't been under the drug's influence, he wouldn't have been able to move._
> 
> _Zirella looked at the guards. "Excellent. You may leave us now."_
> 
> _Barely hiding their smirks, the two men left. Zirella, humming to herself, left Trip and went into another room. He lay, staring at the ceiling, hardly believing what was happening to him. It was like some dreadful dream. But as feeling returned, the bite of the restraints at his hands and feet assured him that this was no dream, but cold hard reality._
> 
> _She returned, clad only in a light flowing robe. "Starting to feel better?" she asked. He didn't reply. Instead, he stared at the ceiling. His silence didn't seem to bother her. She ran a light hand down his chest. Angrily, he tried to squirm away, to avoid her touch._
> 
> _"Behave yourself," she told him. "You're going to have to get used to being touched." And she continued stroking him. "It won't be too bad," she continued. "No hard labour for you, beautiful. No, I think you're going to have a very luxurious life somewhere. Once you learn to obey, that is."_
> 
> _Trip glared at her. "Bitch!"_
> 
> _She simply laughed. "Oh, naughty, naughty boy. But you'll learn manners soon enough." She continued her touches. He clenched his jaw, stared resolutely upwards, willing himself not to respond to her._
> 
> _"Go ahead," she teased. "Fight me. I like a little spirit." She continued her caresses, drawing one elaborately-painted fingernail across his chest. "That's right. You be strong. I like a strong man. Only," and she smiled, "I have all the time in the universe. Think you'll be able to hold out forever?"_
> 
> _She bent, flicked her tongue across his nipples. His hands clenched into fists. "Don't deny it. That feels good, doesn't it?"_
> 
> _"It would if I had something nice to look at," he sneered. "And you, lady, ain't it."_
> 
> _Her face darkened, and she slapped him. Despite the stinging pain of the blow, he grinned. "I was right, wasn't I?" he asked her. "This is the only way you can get any, isn't it? You wouldn't be able to get a man to give you the time of day, otherwise."_
> 
> _"You'll end up giving me more than that when I'm through with you," she hissed._
> 
> _"Maybe. But not willingly. You just remember that."_
> 
> _But by now, she had regained her composure. "In the end, it won't matter," she said serenely. "You'll see."_
> 
> _She started again. He looked away, thought of engineering schematics, non-linear equations, multidimensional geometry — of anything except what was happening to him._
> 
> _For a while, it worked. She stood. "Fine," she said tightly. "Fine. You wish to be difficult? Go ahead. I have the remedy for your stubbornness."_
> 
> _She opened a drawer on the bedside table, brought forth some scented oil._
> 
> _"Now," she murmured, "we shall see what we shall see." She applied a few drops, first to his nipples, and then his unresponsive member. She sat back and smiled in satisfaction. "Now," she repeated, "we will see."_
> 
> _For a few minutes, nothing happened. This did not seem to disturb her, instead, she sat on the edge of the bed, humming to herself, and idly stroking the inside of his thighs._
> 
> _Then the oil began to do its work. His nipples tingled, faintly at first, and then with more intensity. Despite his best efforts, he could feel himself stiffen, and he closed his eyes in shame and defeat._
> 
> _Zirella laughed at him, and began her caresses again. This time, with the aid of the oil, he had no choice. He became fully aroused, and she began to tease him, stroking him lightly, touching him with her tongue. He kept resolutely silent, determined not to give into her. "Still stubborn?" she asked. "You'll learn to behave otherwise." He refused to answer._
> 
> _She took more of the oil, and applied to his torso, his legs, and his ass. Then she began again. Trip had to bite his lip to keep from crying aloud. Every nerve was singing, stretched to the limit, screaming with agonized pleasure._
> 
> _She held his erect member in her hand. "What time is it?" she asked. He kept silent. "Still fighting? It seems to me that the battle is over. You have lost, my friend."_
> 
> _"I'm no friend of yours," he told her through gritted teeth. "And you had to have help. If it wasn't for that wonder oil of yours, you wouldn't have been able to get to first base."_
> 
> _"That's right," she said, shrugging. "You tell yourself that, if it makes you feel better. But what I'm holding here, " and she squeezed slightly, "tells me a very different story." She squeezed again, and despite himself, he arched his back. "I think I'm well past 'first base'," she taunted him._
> 
> _She continued to tease him, stroking, caressing, bringing him to the edge and then drawing him back. His hips shifted, and he closed his eyes. She laughed at him, and with the sound of her laughter ringing in his ears, she mounted him._

Trip shivered. "She used me," he told Archer. "I tried so hard to resist. I really did." He shivered again. "But in the end ..."

> _Trip gasped. ""First base'?" Zirella asked softly, her face appearing in his field of view, while she continued to rock on top of him. He closed his eyes, but there was no escaping what was happening. His hands clenched. "Oh, I think much more than 'first base', don't you agree?" His head turned helplessly from side to side. "You like this, don't you?" He kept silent. "You do," she told him. "I see it. I know. You can protest all you want, but in reality..."_
> 
> _He groaned as his climax hit him, and arched his back again._
> 
> _"First base," she said again, with satisfaction._

Carefully, Archer put his arm around Trip. "She laughed at me," the younger man said. "And told me that I liked it. That I really wanted it to happen."

Archer sighed. "Of course she did. All part of her game, Trip. She liked torturing you any way she could." Trip did not respond. "I think they're something you should know," the Captain continued. "Something Phlox found out."

Trip looked at him. "The oil they used on you? It's actually pretty long-lasting. It gets absorbed through the skin, and ends up staying in your system for quite a while. Makes it easier the next time. You know what I mean?" Trip nodded. "And the more times it's used, the more it builds up in your system. You understand?"

Trip nodded again.

"Of course, they weren't going to tell you that," Archer said grimly. "They're not going to let you know that you're being medicated into responding. Makes it easier for them psychologically — to convince you that you must have not resisted enough. And that makes you vulnerable. Puts you right where they want you."

"Thanks for telling me, Captain."

"Thank you, Trip." Trip looked at him in surprise. "You've given us a description of that pair. Now we know how they captured you. I can let Starfleet and the Vulcan High Command know. They'll be on the lookout for them, and I think it won't be long until they're caught, and stopped. Congratulations. You've saved a lot of people from suffering the same fate."

It was evident that Trip hadn't considered it in this way at all. The look on his face would have been comical under other circumstances. Archer smiled. "So you're a hero, Trip. Again."

Trip looked away. Porthos, whined. Absently, Trip stroked his head. "Even Porthos agrees with me," Archer pointed out.

Trip shook his head. "I don't feel like a hero," he said huskily.

Archer gave his shoulder another squeeze. "Trust me on this one."


	10. Ten

The door buzzed, and Archer looked up from his book. It had been a quiet afternoon; _Enterprise_ was currently surveying a stellar nursery. While this activity was fascinating for the Astrometrics and Science Departments, there wasn't much for the Captain to do, except to tell Astrometrics and Science to go ahead and be fascinated. So he had spent a lazy afternoon, catching up on his reading. Trip was curled up, having a much-needed nap, with Porthos as usual snuggled against his back.

"Come," Archer called.

Travis Mayweather came bounding in, as excited and enthusiastic as a puppy. "Captain! I've got news!"

Archer put his finger to his lips in a "shushing" gesture, but it was too late; Trip had awoken with a start.

"Sorry, Captain," Mayweather said contritely. "Commander."

"S'all right," Trip said drowsily.

Archer sighed inwardly. Too late. The damage was done. Trip was still troubled by nightmares and what Phlox referred to as "frequent waking", which meant that he woke up every hour or so during the night. The result was that even though the engineer slept a great deal, he was physically and mentally exhausted. "What is it, Ensign?" he asked, careful to keep the slight edge of irritation out of his voice.

"I just heard from my great-uncle Joseph on the _Orion_ ," Mayweather said, a little quieter but still jubilant. "The Vulcans caught them!"

"'Them'? You mean —"

Mayweather beamed. "The brother and sister. The ones who kidnapped Commander Tucker." At this, Trip looked over. "See, I got my great-uncle Joe on the _Orion_ to put the word out," Mayweather explained, "and it got passed along all the Boomer routes. Everyone was keeping an eye out. The _Magellan_ spotted them in port two solar days ago, and called the Vulcan High Command and Earth Cargo Authority. ECA started after them, and they made the mistake of trying to escape by cutting across Vulcan space. The Vulcans caught them red-handed. Contraband, and," he hesitated, "ah, other cargo." He looked across at Trip, then at Archer. "You know what I mean."

Archer nodded.

"Those two won't be going anywhere for a long, long time. The Vulcans may not say much, but I know they hate that kind of thing." He grinned again. "I figured you should be the first to know."

"That's great news, Travis," Archer said, meaning it. "Thanks for stopping by."

Trip, however, was silent. Sensing trouble ahead, Archer repeated, "Thank you, Ensign." Hearing the definite dismissal in his tone, Mayweather nodded, and departed.

Once he was gone, the Captain went over to Trip's bedside. "Good news, huh?"

"Yeah," Trip said. But his expression, frozen and remote, said otherwise.

Archer pulled up a chair and sat beside him. "What's wrong?" Trip, idly stroking Porthos' fur, did not answer. "Trip?"

His friend looked at him then. "Am I going to have to testify?"

"I don't know,' Archer replied honestly. "It sounds like the Vulcans already have more than enough evidence as is. They may not need your testimony. I'll ask T'Pol to enquire. How's that?"

"Okay." Trip closed his eyes.

"That bad, was it?"

Trip exhaled. "Bad enough. I told you about her." He shivered. "But you don't know about _him_."

"Then tell me," the Captain said carefully.

*****

>   
> _Trip lay, staring at the ceiling, still bound hand and foot. Once had not been enough for the alien woman; she had used him several times until she was satisfied, taunting him each time as to how he had secretly enjoyed it. (“I told you, Trip,” the Captain repeated. “All part of their game. To wear you down. To make you vulnerable. They lied to you. Remember that.”) Finally, finally, Zirella was finished with him. When she was, she simply left him there, exposed and helpless, his body was still tingling with the effects of the stimulant oil she had used._
> 
> _Tears of rage and humiliation gathered on his lids, but he kept them back by sheer force of will. He still couldn't believe that all of this had happened to him. Only a short time ago, he had been Chief Engineer of the NX-01_ Enterprise _, on a pleasant shore leave and happily playing tourist. And now? Some sort of pleasure toy for this woman?_  
> 

"They had me trussed up like a thanksgiving turkey," Trip said, still not meeting Archer's gaze. "I don't know how long I was lying there. No way to tell time. Seemed like forever. And then one of their hired help came in..."

> _Trip looked over as the door opened. One of the guards who had dragged him in entered, stood over him. The man leered at him, and allowed his lecherous gaze to travel along Trip's helpless form. Lightly, he brushed his fingers along the engineer's stomach, and Trip tensed. The guard smirked, produced another hypospray and injected him._

"Knocked me out cold. I don't know for how long. Not long, though. Because when I woke up, I could still feel that damned oil _she_ had used."

> _He blinked, then woke fully. For one brief second, he thought himself aboard Enterprise. Had a hell of a dream, he thought. Have to lay off the sweets before bedtime. Then the events of the day rushed in on him, and he felt his heart sink. It wasn't a dream. It had been all too horribly real._
> 
> _He was still bound, but now was lying on his stomach. His hands were stretched over his head and bound together at the wrists and secured to the headboard, while his legs were spread apart, feet also tightly tied. He was almost completely immobilized. He could the rapid beat of his heart, and he took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm himself._
> 
> _"You're awake," a voice drawled lazily. "Good. I was getting tired of waiting."_

"It was the other one," Trip said, still looking straight ahead.

"Her brother?" Archer asked. "Arex?"

Trip nodded, swallowed.

> _He craned his head over his shoulder, trying to see who the speaker was. Arex walked over to his bedside with an easy, boneless grace, and smiled down on him._
> 
> _"I have to admit," he said in the same, lazy drawl, " that when my darling sister is right about something, she is right."_
> 
> _Trip kept silent. Like his sister, Arex sighed theatrically. "She warned me how stubborn you are. Ah, well. Like her, I also enjoy a challenge."_
> 
> _He ran one idle finger down Trip's spine, and the engineer shrank away in disgust and revulsion._
> 
> _"Come now," the man said. "It's not all that bad, is it?" He stroked Trip's shoulders. "Nice." And then his hand travelled down, and began to stroke the engineer's ass. "Very nice," was his comment. "Firm. Lovely."_
> 
> _Trip squirmed, trying to evade the unwelcome touch._
> 
> _"I'm sure my sister has already told you," Arex said with exaggerated patience, "that you will simply have to get used to being touched like this. And I'm also sure that she has told you that life will be very pleasant for you, once you do. A little co-operation, and you'll reap all sorts of rewards."_
> 
> _His hand reached down between Trip's legs, fondled him. Trip's hands clenched into fists._
> 
> _"Come, now," Arex began. "Surely you're —". He stopped. Trip took another look over his shoulder. The man was staring at him. A slow smile spread over those saturnine features. When he spoke again, he seemed to be genuinely excited and astonished. "You aren't, are you? You're a virgin back here, aren't you? You've never been had, have you?" He took Trip's silence for assent. "How utterly delightful! Absolutely marvellous!" He smiled again._
> 
> _"I'll have to be careful, though," he mused aloud. "Zirella will kill me if I damage the merchandise..."_

"Merchandise," Archer muttered in disgust. "Pity they were caught trespassing in Vulcan space. I'd much rather the Klingons caught them." He looked over at Trip. "Sorry."

The younger man drew a deep, tremulous breath. "It's okay, Captain." Archer placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, and was relieved when Trip did not flinch away. Instead, his friend simply stared at the ceiling for a moment, then continued.

> _Trip lay, his hands clenched in helpless rage and frustration, while Arex started to play with him. He put more of the oil on the engineer, then began running his hands along him with a brazen familiarity. Unable to move or evade the hated, unwelcome touch, all Trip could do was endure. It was evident, however, that endurance was not what Arex wanted from him. He slipped a hand under him, began playing with his sex. Trip gritted his teeth and tried to resist, concentrating on the most complex maths he could bring to mind._
> 
> _All the math in the universe was no match for the stimulant oil. A double application made him hyper-sensitive, and he was beginning to react to Arex's insistent touch. He bit his lip; he would not give Arex any additional satisfaction by making noise._
> 
> _The man was as clever, skilled and cruel as his sister had been. He continued to manipulate his victim until Trip was once again on the brink. Then he simply walked away, leaving Trip hanging, his senses scrambled._

"I looked over," Trip said, "and he was having a goddamned cup of tea!" He swallowed. "He waited until I had started to come down, and then..." he sighed, "he came back."

>   
> _Arex turned out to be remarkably patient. More so than his sister had been. He played with Trip for what seemed to be hours, bringing him to the edge and then letting him cool back down. The engineer's system was in an uproar; his sex ached fiercely, needing release, and he was so sensitized by now that the slightest touch was more than enough to send him into an agonized ecstasy._
> 
> _Despite his best efforts, after hours of this torture he could no longer keep quiet, and a low moan escaped him. This appeared to be a signal for his tormentor, because now Arex began to work on him in earnest._
> 
> _He felt something splash on him; a combination of lube and the oil. He closed his eyes, knowing what was going to happen next, frightened of it, hating it, but unable to stop any of it from happening to him._
> 
> _One abhorrent finger entered him; then two, then more. Arex manipulated him patiently, forcing him to accept this repulsive invasion. Trip clenched his jaw. He would not cry out. He would not give this pig the satisfaction of hearing him in distress._
> 
> Just get it over with, he kept thinking. Just finish it! _Arex was not telepathic, and even if he had been, it was doubtful he would have acquiesced to Trip's wishes. Instead, he kept up his slow manipulations._
> 
> _Finally, he felt those horrible fingers withdraw, and heard the man position himself behind him. Still exhibiting remarkable patience and restraint, Arex entered him slowly. Despite the preparation, there was still some pain. Trip fiercely welcomed this; better pain than otherwise._
> 
> _Arex pushed his way completely into him, then simply lay still atop him. He could feel the hot, revolting breath on his neck and shoulders, and realized that the man was going to wait; he was going to wait until Trip was used to this; to wait until Trip's pain was gone._   
> 

Trip stopped, his eyes full of tears. Archer squeezed his shoulder. Angrily, Trip shook his head. He sat up, displacing Porthos, who yelped in annoyance. He would have left the bed and stumbled away if Archer had not managed to get a hold of him.

"It's all right, " Archer soothed. "If you can't talk about this anymore, I'm not going to ask you to. It's okay."

Trip looked at him. "It was awful," he whispered.

> _Arex continued to wait, but was not idle while doing so. He continued to play with Trip the entire time; one hand was on his sex, rhythmically stroking, tantalizing, while the other continued its unwelcome explorations of his back, shoulders, arms, slipping under to torment his nipples and stomach._
> 
> _Trip found himself biting down on the pillow underneath him. He wanted to scream at his assailant, to tell him to just do him, damn it, just finish up already, but he knew that to do so would only prolong his agony._
> 
> _Finally, after an eternity, Arex started moving. His thrusts were slow and rhythmic, and Trip gasped despite himself; he was experiencing internal stimulation and the resulting pleasure for the first time._
> 
> _At this, Arex laughed. Trip wished he could block his ears, close off his senses, not experience what was happening to him, but he was trapped._
> 
> _Arex began to thrust harder, faster, pounding into his helpless captive. Trip had pain, but there was pleasure, too. The hand on his sex tightened, squeezed, began to move with purpose and finality. Trip groaned; he couldn't help himself, and Arex laughed again, then stiffened and climaxed._
> 
> _He did not immediately withdraw as Trip hoped; instead, he kept going. By this point in time, Trip was only vaguely aware of this, his world had diminished to the fact that he was in desperate need of release. Arex squeezed him tighter, and finally, he was permitted to come. He cried out when his orgasm struck him, and his hips bucked and jerked, causing his rapist to moan with satisfied pleasure._
> 
> _At last, Arex withdrew from him. "Delightful," he said. "Absolutely delightful." Trip still refused to speak. He felt raw, sore and stretched. He heard the door close, and was left alone. Finally._

Trip was trembling from head to foot. "They sent in a doctor," he told Archer. "At least, I think that was what he was. He gave me a shot, and the last thing I remember was that he was starting to take care of what ..." he couldn't continue.

Archer sighed. There was only one thing he could do for Trip. He put his arm around him, drew him in protectively. Trip stiffened for a moment, then allowed the touch. "You were raped," he said firmly, answering the question he saw in Trip's eyes.

"Was I? Really?" Trip asked. "I mean, I reacted. I — I came."

"Did you want to?" Trip shook his head. "Did you want this man to have sex with you?" Another shake of the head. "Were you given any choice?"

"No," Trip whispered.

"I'm pretty sure that they wanted you to climax every time," Archer told him. "Not because they gave a damn about you. But the psychological impact would help them manipulate you. They wanted you to ask yourself what you're asking right now — if it was 'really rape'. To question whether deep down, some part of you wanted it, liked it. Like I told you before, that makes you vulnerable. Easier to control."

"I should have —"

" — 'Should have' what, Trip? Should have fought back? How? Should have stopped the effects of the oil? Again, how? Should have stopped feeling? You're not a Vulcan – you can't turn your nervous system off. Those two were obviously old hands at this particular game. They held all the cards. But you know, you beat them anyhow."

Trip looked at him. "I did? How? I mean ..."

"It's very simple," Archer said, squeezing his shoulder. "You survived."

*****

Malcolm Reed strode briskly down the corridor, ignoring all the looks he received. You'd think they never saw a man carrying a tray before, he thought irritably.

He stopped in front of the Captain's quarters. Although now, technically, they were the Captain and Commander Tucker's quarters. It was, of course, impossible to keep anything as momentous as the Chief Engineer moving in with the Captain a secret aboard ship.

Normally, such a move would give rise to a great deal of gossip, much of it (in his view) inappropriate. However, in this case it was generally understood that the Commander was suffering from a severe case of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, and was not to be left unattended for any great length of time. Since most of the crew would also prefer not to remain in Sickbay for any extended period (Phlox's pets tended to get noisy), moving the Commander into the Captain's quarters, seemed, well, to quote Subcommander T'Pol, a logical move.

He buzzed the door, waited. No reply. He buzzed again. This time, he could hear Commander Tucker's faint response.

Reed entered. The Commander was in his bed; apparently, he had been sleeping.

He still slept a great deal. Reed was not surprised by this, considering what the engineer had been through. He was struck once again by the monstrous unfairness of it all. This genuinely decent, genuinely nice, genuinely good man had been subjected to a nightmarish hell of repeated rapes, assaults and humiliations. And for what purpose? It made no sense.

Reed sighed slightly. He still felt a great deal of guilt over the whole affair. When Trip had failed to show up at their prearranged meeting site during shore leave, his first reaction was one of irritation. He had gone ahead and assumed that his friend had forgotten or had been distracted by something else.

_If only I'd gone looking for him right then and there. I might have been able to find him before they did. Instead, I sat and fumed. Didn't try to get in touch with him, either. And I didn't bother to call the Captain until well after nightfall. Too late then. I'm so sorry, Trip._

The engineer looked over at him, but was silent. Reed felt awkward as hell; what could he say? And yet to not speak to him was a cruelty beyond measure. "I've brought your lunch," he finally managed.

Trip shook his head. "Not hungry."

Reed was able to smile at this. "The Captain thought you'd say that." He took a padd out of his pocket. Balancing the tray with one hand, he handed the padd to Trip.

Trip sighed, but took the padd, saw the five words on its screen: _Eat. That's an order. Archer._ He sighed again.

Reed, still nervous and awkward, placed the tray in his lap, then raised his bed and fussed about him. He was about to tuck the napkin into Trip's pyjama top, but a glare from the Commander stopped him. "You going to feed me, too?"

"Only if I have to," was Reed's response.

Trip stared.

"Captain's orders," Reed elaborated. At the look on Trip's face, he went on: "Seriously. He said either you eat this yourself, or I feed you."

Trip looked at his lunch without much enthusiasm. "He really said that?"

"Would I lie about something like that?" Reed pulled up a chair and sat down. "He also said I was to stay here and make sure you cleaned your plate. And drank all your milk. He told me to tell you, and I quote: 'Your days of starving yourself are over, Trip'."

Trip sighed. "Sounds like the Captain, all right." And he began to eat, but without much enjoyment, while Reed sat and watched. It took every bit of will power the tactical officer had not to fidget, bite his nails, run a hand through his hair, but to sit quietly instead.

He watched Trip slowly and methodically work his way through the angel hair pasta, chicken and salad Chef had prepared for him. Finally, Reed couldn't stand the silence any longer. "How are you?" he asked.

Trip stopped eating and simply looked at him. Reed felt like ten different varieties of fool, and prayed for a tear in the fabric of space-time to appear and allow him to sink through the floor and out of sight. The universe, having other things to worry about, failed to cooperate on this, and Reed was left to try and work his way through this on his own.

"Stupid question," he said. "Forget it." Trip gave him another look. "I mean, it's pretty obvious, isn't it?" He swallowed. "But I'm so sorry."

"For what?"

"On the planet. I should have come looking for you. Maybe if I had, I might have found you. Before ..."

Trip shook his head. "Wouldn't have made any difference." He added, "Mal."

"You can't know that."

"And neither can you. So forget it."

Reed looked at him. "Really —Trip. How are you? We're all worried about you. I mean, after everything..."

Trip stopped eating again. "Who's 'we'?"

"The Captain. Phlox. Me. Hoshi. Travis. Even Subcommander T'Pol, though of course you'd never hear her say so." He saw the slightly frozen look on his friend's face. "No one else really knows what happened to you," he added quickly. "It's none of their business. But we were helping the Captain get you out of there."

Trip nodded, slowly.

"Hoshi cried, you know," Reed added, apropos of nothing.

"What?"

"When she found out what they were doing to you, she cried. For hours. Phlox finally had to give her a sedative. Really," he said, seeing the look on Trip's face. "And Subcommander T'Pol? She worked day and night for a week, getting the information we needed out of the planetary database, breaking the encryption for the bank codes, that sort of thing. I don't think she slept until you were back on board. I do know for a fact that she bullied the Vulcan Security Directorate into releasing all their reports on the Tasumi in general, and the Volashas in particular. And Travis nagged all his relatives to alert all the other Boomers to be on the lookout for that brother-sister team." He looked at Trip. "No one thinks what happened to you is funny in any way, shape or form. Nor is anyone snickering about it, if that's what you think."

Trip had no answer for that. Instead, he simply looked at his plate.

"It's just that," and Reed sighed, "that we — I — don't quite know what to say to you. This is something we've never had to deal with before."

At this, Trip managed to raise an eyebrow. "No kidding."

Reed shook his head. "Bloody hell," he said. "I've done it again, haven't I? Sorry." He looked at Trip. "I'd imagine you must be rather sick of hearing that, too."

"It's tough," Trip finally admitted. "I mean, you're not the only one who feels awkward, you know."

"Listen," said Reed, very seriously, "I can't even begin to imagine what you must have gone through. And, frankly? I don't want to even try. But if you need to talk, I'm here. Anytime. I'll listen."

Trip nodded. "Thanks, Mal. I appreciate it."

And he began to eat again. Reed watched, and after a few minutes of silence, asked, "So? Do you want to talk?"

Trip looked at him. "Can I finish my lunch first?"

****

Archer entered his quarters, and was pleasantly surprised to find Trip lying on the couch. He was covered with a blanket, and Porthos was at his feet, which was of course, usual. What was unusual was that he was currently playing a game of chess with Reed.

"If you want a real game of strategy —" Trip was saying.

"— I'll stick to chess, thanks," Reed cut him off.

Both looked up at the Captain's entrance. Reed immediately stood at attention.

"At ease, Lieutenant," Archer said, smiling. Reed slowly sat back down. "Who's winning?"

Trip and Reed spoke simultaneously. "I am."

Archer smiled again. "I see," he said neutrally, but inwardly, he was pleased to see that Trip was up to bickering with Malcolm, for however long it would last.

Reed still looked uncomfortable, and Archer knew that his tactical officer was still not completely comfortable socializing with his superior officers. It was a mark of Trip's charm and personality, Archer reflected, that he had managed to strike up a real and lasting friendship with the taciturn Brit.

"I think I'd best go now," Reed said. He looked at Trip. "We can pick this up tomorrow. Don't move any of the pieces."

"I don't need to cheat to beat you," was Trip's retort.

Reed picked up the tray he had brought in, and prepared to leave. Archer stopped him. "Just a minute." He lifted the cover, saw the empty plate and glass.

"He ate it all, sir, " Reed told him.

"Glad to see you're following orders, Commander," Archer said to Trip.

The younger man nodded. "Yes, sir."

I'll just be glad when I won't have to order to you eat, damn it. But all he said was, "Very good. Carry on, Lieutenant." Reed practically saluted his way out of their quarters. The Captain carefully smothered a smile and waited until Reed had left. "He here all afternoon?" he asked Trip.

Trip nodded, then suddenly looked worried. "You mean, he wasn't supposed to be? Captain —"

Archer held up his hand. "No, no — it's all right, Trip. It's his day off, and Malcolm volunteered to stay with you, and make sure you ate."

Trip suddenly looked down at his blanket, blinking hard. "Every one has been so good to me," he said almost inaudibly.

"And why shouldn't they be?" Archer asked gently. "You've got a great many friends aboard this ship who care a great deal about you, Commander."

Trip didn't reply. Archer went and sat beside him. "I can't begin to tell you the number of times I've been asked — by just about everyone on-board — how you are, if there's anything you need, if there's anything they can do."

Trip's eyes were bright with tears.

"I don't know if you realize this, because you're usually sleeping, but Hoshi comes by to check on you on her break," Archer continued. "Chef's been spending all of his spare time thinking up new recipes to try and tempt you to eat. Hell, even T'Pol spends most of her time researching various ways to help you out, and bending both Phlox's and my ears with her results. Mind you, I think she'd rather die than admit she's worried about you. Travis asks about you constantly, and you know he got all his relatives to look out for your kidnappers. I could go on and on, but I think you get the point."

Trip was still silent. But the tears were flowing freely now.

One part of Archer rejoiced to see them; it meant that the walls Trip had erected around his feelings were starting to crumble. On the other hand, it was heartbreaking to see this strong, confident young man reduced to this. He remembered Phlox telling him that Trip was going to have to be put back together, one piece at a time. And he knew, difficult as it was to watch, that this was the start of that process.

He put a gentle arm about Trip's shoulders. "I'm sorry," his friend managed.

"Don't apologize," Archer told him. "Let it out, Trip. You've been keeping all of this inside you for far, far too long."

Trip trembled, and Archer drew him into a reassuring hug. "Go on. It's all right. I won't think any less of you. I told you I thought you were one brave son of a bitch, and I meant it. You are brave. You kept yourself held together when a lot of people wouldn't be able to. But there's another kind of bravery, Trip. The bravery to confront these feelings. And you've got that kind within you, too. I know you, Trip, and I know you do. So go ahead. Let it out. It's time."

And Trip capitulated. He began to cry; deep, wrenching sobs that shook his slender frame. Archer's shoulder was soon wet with his friend's tears, but he continued to hold him, offering himself as the life preserver that Trip was in such desperate need of right now.

"That's right," he kept repeating. "It's going to be all right. You're going to get through this."

And he thought that for the first time in what seemed like forever, he might actually be speaking the truth.


	11. Eleven

"Oh, goddammit all to hell!"

And the swearing continued; rich, ripe, imaginative curses. Despite the annoyance and frustration evident behind the profanity, Archer found himself smiling. When he wanted to, Trip was capable of letting loose language that could curdle new milk at ten paces.

He rose from the couch, and went into Trip's side of their quarters. The engineer was clinging to the wall outside the bathroom, turning the air around him blue.

"Tsk, tsk," Archer said mildly. "Language, Commander."

"Jesus bloody Christ on a carousel!" was the response.

Smothering another smile, the Captain went up to him, took his arm. "Going in or coming out?"

"Out," Trip replied.

Archer helped him back to his bed. Despite the Captain's support, Trip swayed and nearly fell. "These goddamn meds!" he snarled.

"I know it's aggravating," Archer told him. "But look on the bright side — at least you're sleeping through the night now."

"I don't have much of a choice," Trip complained. "I'm so damn dizzy all the time that all I can do is sleep!"

"Phlox said one of the side effects of these new drugs is lowered blood pressure," Archer reminded him. "That's why you're dizzy. He also said your system will become acclimatized. Eventually."

"It's that last word that worries me," Trip said irritably. "'Eventually'. What the hell does that mean? Tomorrow? Two weeks from now? Or when hell freezes over? Who knows? Doctors," he grumbled, pulling the blankets up over him, "there ought to be a law."

Despite himself, Archer smiled again. Trip glared at him. "Think this is funny, do you?"

"Yep."

"Well —" Trip started, then stopped. "Yeah, all right. I see your point," he admitted grudgingly. "But it's still frustrating as hell for me, you know."

"I do know, Trip. But you're just going to have to be patient. Why don't you read for a while?"

Trip sighed. "I'm still having trouble concentrating for more than an hour or so. And my short-term memory is still shot to hell, too. I tried reading this morning, and I got twenty pages in —and forgot one of the plot points!" He scrubbed his face with his hand. "And I think I'm getting another headache. Maybe I'll try and sleep it off."

"I'll give you a back rub if you like," Archer offered.

Trip hesitated. He had come a long way, but was still wary of being touched.

"You'll feel better," Archer added.

Trip sighed. "You're right. It's just that..." and he trailed off.

"I know. But that was then; this is now. It's your call, though. I won't touch you without your say-so. You know that. You don't have to be afraid."

Trip looked at him. “You keep saying that. I don't get it. What do you mean?”

Archer looked at him in surprise. “The shuttlepod ... “

Trip raised his mobile, expressive brows. “I'm sorry, Captain. I don't know what you mean.”

“I tried to put a cover on you when we were coming up from Tasumi, and, well, you freaked out, to put it mildly. You were terrified.”

Trip frowned. “I was? I don't remember that at all.” He looked at Archer. “If you say it happened, I believe you. But I don't remember the trip back at all. I was pretty out of it by that point. I remember waking up in my quarters with Phlox, but the last thing I remember is you half-carrying me out of the entertainment room.”

Archer stared. “So I don't scare you?”

“Everything scares me right now. But you're about the only thing that doesn't.” He looked at Archer. “Is that why you've been tip-toeing around me? Because you think I think you're some sort of boogeyman?”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

“Well, that's stupid. You pulled my butt out of there. Why would I think that?”

“Like I said, you freaked out.”

“Captain, I was stoned out of my mind. Anything would have freaked me out. Like you said, that stuff they used was pretty potent. And Phlox told me they were using all kinds of drugs on me. By the time we left, I didn't know which end was up. Hell, Porthos would have scared the hell out of me.”

Archer exhaled. “You have no idea ...” He couldn't continue.

Trip looked at him. “I think I do. But just so you know – you don't scare me. I might have problems with being touched right now, but that's anyone touching me. It's nothing to do with you. Hell, you're the only one I don't want to run and hide from.”

“Thanks,” he said. It was only one word, but had a universe of meaning behind it. Trip smiled faintly, but then sighed again, shook his head. "Sorry, Captain."

"No apologies needed, Trip."

"It's just that..."

"Do you want to tell me about it?"

"Want to? No."

Archer understood. He sat on the bedside. "What happened, Trip? After Arex, I mean."

Trip frowned. "I can't remember much. They kept me pretty doped up. It's like a dream. Faces that came and went. I do remember being carried down a corridor at one point in time. And then I think I was on another ship altogether."

"You were. It was a Malzat trading ship."

"Oh. That right?" He looked at his blanket. "The next thing I do remember is standing somewhere — well, being propped up, actually — and Maya looking at me. And then, the next thing..."

> _Trip blinked and looked around. He was in a fairly large, luxurious room, lying atop a bed covered in silk sheets. Tapestries, comfortable furniture and a thick rug met his gaze as he looked about. All in all, it was a far cry from the small, barren cell he last remembered._
> 
> _He looked down at himself. He was buck naked, but had gold bracelets on his wrists. Ankles, too. He could feel something around his neck as well—it was a collar. He examined one of the bracelets. It was a smooth, shining gold, with no locking mechanism that he was able to see._
> 
> _His back itched. Craning his head as far as he could, he could glimpse what looked like a tattoo on one shoulder blade, and frowned. He didn't go for that kind of thing, but it looked like he had no choice._
> 
> _Before he could get out of bed to investigate further, the door opened. A tall bald man, wearing austere black robes, and a red insignia on his chest, entered the room. He was followed by a whole retinue of people, dressed identically in green and yellow uniforms._

"Turned out to be Al-Saahn."

"The House Master."

"Right. Him."

> _The House Master looked at Trip with dark, hooded eyes._
> 
> _"Who in hell are you?" Trip demanded, "and what the hell —" He got no further. The man was wearing a large, ornately studded bracelet on one wrist, and he fingered one of the jewelled studs. A bolt of pain shot through Trip._
> 
> _"Manners," Al-Saahn said to one of the others. "Arrange sessions with the Protocol Master."_
> 
> _"Yes, House Master."_
> 
> _He looked at Trip, and wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Clean him up." And he turned on his heel and left._
> 
> _Before Trip knew what was happening, he was hustled away into a large, splendid bathroom. There, the retinue of other servants bathed, shampooed, shaved, powdered, manicured and pedicured him to within an inch of his life. He struggled, but every time he did, he was rewarded with pain. Eventually, he surrendered and submitted to their ministrations._
> 
> _When they were finished, he was marched down a hall and into another room. Al-Saahn, sitting behind a desk, looked up when Trip was unceremoniously deposited in front of him. He regarded Trip for a moment._
> 
> _"Better," he finally said. "Make sure his bedding is changed, too."_
> 
> _"Yes, House Master."_
> 
> _"What the —"_
> 
> _Before he could say another word, another hammer blow of pain dropped him to his knees._
> 
> _"First lesson," the House Master told him. "In this House, you will speak only when spoken to. Do you understand?"_
> 
> _Trip was silent. This earned him another jolt of pain._
> 
> _"Understand?"_
> 
> _"Bastard!" More pain._
> 
> _"Understand?"_
> 
> _"Go to hell!" Now he was sprawled on the floor. Al-Saahn, watching impassively, let him writhe in agony for what seemed like forever. Just when he thought he was going to pass out, the pain stopped._
> 
> _"Understand?"_
> 
> _Trip gasped for breath._
> 
> _"I will take that for a yes." He stood up, came around from behind the desk, and crouched down beside Trip. "Listen to me, my young friend. My Master has paid a great deal for you. He wishes to make a gift of you to the Mistress of this House, his most beloved wife. She returns in seven days, and it falls to me to make you presentable to her in that time. And I plan to do so. So there will be no more temper tantrums or theatrics. You may be pretty enough to merit her indulgence when the time comes, but not mine."_
> 
> _He stood. "Behave yourself, and the rewards will be great. My Mistress is very kind. Too kind, sometimes. As for my Master, he is a hard — but fair — man. Please his wife and you will please him. Again, you will find that to be worth your while." He looked down at Trip. "Misbehave, on the other hand, and you will suffer the consequences. I am quite sure that you will find serving the Lady of the House far more preferable than being turned over for the amusement of his Lord's troops."_
> 
> _"You don't understand," Trip said, "I don't belong here!"_
> 
> _Al-Saahn laughed. "Who amongst us does?" He sobered. "Belong here or not, you are here. You are fortunate. I can think of far worse places that one such as you might have ended up in. One of the City Bordellos, for example. And since you are here, I suggest that you accept the inevitable. It will make your life much easier." He reached down. "Now, on your feet."_

Trip looked away. "I spent the next week 'training'," he said, and shivered.

"Protocol?"

Trip shook his head. "Not exactly."

> _"Please...no more. I can't take any more." His voice was little more than a whimper. "Please."_
> 
> _The Teacher shook his head. "You can take it," he said. "You are taking it. And learning patience in the process."_
> 
> _Trip writhed at this. He was bound to his bed, and was wearing was euphemistically referred to as "trainers". These were devices on his nipples and sex; devices that kept him constantly stimulated, in a state of arousal and near-orgasm. The Teacher controlled their intensity and duration of the stimulation. Trip could not remove or control them; escape was impossible, so all that was left was for him to endure._
> 
> _Initially, he was only required to wear them for a short time, and then was given a rest. But the sessions grew longer and longer, and in this session, he had been forced to wear them all day, and by now he was in an agony of frustration and need. He cried out again, begging for release, but the Teacher was implacable. He began to instruct Trip in the proper breathing techniques._
> 
> _Breathing techniques! If Trip could have, he would have laughed in the man's face. "I can't," he moaned. "I can't."_
> 
> _"You can and you will," the Teacher said patiently. "Follow my instructions. There will be no release for you until you do."_
> 
> _Trip whimpered again in frustration, and as a result, the intensity increased. He cried out._
> 
> _"What did I say? Now, breathe. As shown to you."_
> 
> _Frantic for some relief, he obeyed, following the teacher's example. And to his surprise, the fierce need faded. A little._
> 
> _"Again," the Teacher commanded. And again, he was compelled to obey._
> 
> _"Very good." High praise, coming from the Teacher._
> 
> _And the stimulation increased; this time, it did not stop or slow down, and he was finally allowed to climax. His orgasm was so intense that he greyed out for a moment or two. When his vision cleared, he saw the Teacher gazing intently at him. His arms and legs, stiff with tension all day, slowly relaxed, and he drew a deep, shaking breath. And another. Finally, his heart slowed down and he was able to breathe normally again._
> 
> _The Teacher gave him a long, appraising look._
> 
> _And then._
> 
> _"Oh, no," he moaned, and the devices were activated. Again._

"They did that to you for a week?" Archer demanded.

Trip nodded. "More than that, actually." He trailed off when he saw the look on Archer's face. "Captain?"

"Sorry, Trip." The Captain's fists were clenched. "It's probably just as well I didn't know all of this before," he told his friend. "Otherwise, I think I would have killed them. All of them."

Trip stared at him, shocked. "You're not kidding, are you?"

"I've never been more serious in my life," was the grim reply.

****

Trip looked up as Archer entered their quarters. "What's going on?" he asked.

"Why aren't you sleeping?" was the Captain's response.

Trip shook his head. "Something's not right. She," meaning _Enterprise_ , "doesn't feel right to me. Something's out of whack here."

Archer reflected that Trip's oft-repeated statement that he knew _Enterprise_ like the back of his hand was no idle boast. He also knew that trying to keep something from the engineer was impossible; if Trip wanted to know something, he'd figure a way to find out.

"One of the nacelles. There's a problem with the plasma vent."

Trip sat up, swung his legs over the bed. "Maybe I —"

He practically fell to the floor as a wave of dizziness swept over him.

"There's your answer," said Archer mildly. "No. You're on sick leave, remember?"

He helped Trip back into bed. "Acclimatize eventually," Trip said bitterly. "The Doc is so full of —"

"He wants you to rest," Archer interrupted. "And so do I. You're going to have to listen to what your body is telling you, Trip. And right now, it's telling you to take it easy." What he didn't say was that he suspected that Phlox had deliberately added this new drug to the mix that Trip was already taking, knowing full well that its particular side effects would force Trip to remain quiet and rest.

"What does Hess say?"

"She says no problem. Says should take 4 — 5 days."

"Bull." Trip's eyes were very blue. "I may be on sick leave, but I still know a snow job when I see it. You tell Hess two days. That's all it should take. They're all jerking off down there," he muttered. "Four days! I'd hate to see what's going on, if this is the kind of crap Hess is feeding you."

Archer smiled. This was more like the Trip he knew. And thank God for that. The younger man was still on a mental roller coaster, and emotionally, he was all over the map, but at least now he was slowly moving forward, making progress, instead of standing still — or worse yet —going backward.

"I'll tell her what you said."

"Please," was the reply. "Four days," he repeated. "I can't believe it."

Archer grinned. "I'll crack the whip over 'em." But Trip did not grin back; instead, he froze.

Damn it! I've put my foot in it again! "Sorry, Trip. I didn't realize..."

Trip managed a faint smile. "It's all right."

Archer looked at him in concern. "Did they really —?"

Trip sighed. "The Protocol Master ..." he shivered.

> _"Now, again — her Ladyship is?"_
> 
> _"The Mistress," Trip groaned._
> 
> _"Or?"_
> 
> _"My Lady."_
> 
> _"And the Lord?"_
> 
> _"The Master."_
> 
> _"Or?"_
> 
> _"My Lord."_
> 
> _"Or?"_
> 
> _Or what? Trip did not know. A crack of the electric whip across his shoulders, bringing a sheet of blinding pain, was his reward._
> 
> _"Sir," the Protocol Master said. "You may call him Sir."_
> 
> _"Sir," Trip repeated, gasping._
> 
> _"When may you say 'no' to the Mistress?"_
> 
> _"Never."_
> 
> _Another crack of the whip. The world went grey "You told me that yourself!"  
>  he cried out._
> 
> _Another bolt of agony._
> 
> _"You may say 'no' if she asks you if you wish to stop."_
> 
> _Trip groaned._

"A few whacks with that thing and you say whatever he wants you to," Trip said.

"I'm sorry, Trip."

Trip managed a faint shrug. "Not your fault, Captain."

"Maybe not," Archer replied. "But you shouldn't have had to go through that." He sighed. "Now I see why you have problems with the back rubs. I should let Phlox know."

"I doubt that would change his mind," Trip replied. "He's a pretty stubborn customer."

The deck plating trembled slightly. "Hess had better get her ass in gear," the engineer growled. "This keeps up, and we'll be flying in circles." He looked up at Archer. "Captain?"

"What is it, Trip?"

"Can I ask a favour?"

"Sure. Anything."

"You sure? You've already done so much for me."

"Not so much, Trip."

The younger man looked up at him. "That's what you think."

****

"Hey, Commander!"

"Good to see you again!"

"Hey guys — it's Commander Tucker!"

And Trip was then surrounded by his crew. He looked around from his wheelchair. "Hey, everyone," he said faintly. "Good to see you again."

Lt. Hess strode through the group. "Back off a bit, you fucking assholes! You're sucking all his goddamned air, for Chrissakes. Give him some room!"

Smothering smiles, the rest of the crew stepped away, to reveal the Chief Engineer in a wheelchair, with the Captain of _Enterprise_ standing behind him.

Hess stopped. Her dusky complexion made it impossible to tell if she were blushing or not, but Archer figured it was a good bet that she was.

"My goodness, Lieutenant," he said mildly. "Is the language always so — colourful down here?"

"No sir," she said, recovering nicely. "Only when Commander Tucker is here. Sir."

"Busted," Trip muttered. He looked around. "Everything going smoothly down here, Hess?"

"Yes, sir."

"Oh really? Then what's this I hear about _four days_ to repair the venting on the starboard nacelle, then?"

Hess looked to Archer for assistance. The Captain shook his head. "You're busted, Lieutenant."


	12. Twelve

"Are you sure, Trip?" Archer was astonished. "I would have thought you'd jump at the chance."

Trip sighed. "Captain, I don't think I could walk to the launch bay without falling down. No," and he shook his head, "I'd better stay put. Thanks for asking, though."

Archer went to the couch and sat. Suddenly, the idea of spending some time on the uninhabited planet they were currently orbiting was not half as appealing as it had been five minutes ago. He looked over at Trip, lying on his bed, arm over his eyes. He hadn't realized how much he was looking forward to Trip's company during this excursion.

Trip spoke again. "Besides, I'm sure by now you'd like a break."

"A break?"

"From me. From being woken up every night because of my damn nightmares. From having to tip-toe around me all the time. And from all the rest of it. Must be pretty tiring. I'd imagine that by now, you're sick and tired of having to look at me."

"Actually, you're wrong." Archer spoke lightly, but realized it was true, nevertheless. Even when he was sick and in distress, Trip was good company.

Trip took his arm away and stared at the Captain. "You have _got_ to be kidding."

"Nope."

"Damn — you really do need a holiday."

"So do you."

"You don't give up, do you?" Trip asked wonderingly.

"Nope."

Trip sighed again. "Captain, please. Like I said. These damn meds — I'm still wobbly. I walk any farther than the bathroom and I'm scared I'm going to pass out. How can I go downplanet like that?"

"So who said anything about walking?" Archer replied. Trip simply looked at him like he'd lost his mind. "I wasn't planning on asking you to go mountain climbing or hiking, you know."

"Then what? I sit under a tree and do some bird-watching?"

"Why not?" Trip had no response to that. Archer, sensing an advantage, forged onward. "We'll take your wheelchair. You won't over-exert yourself in that. A little sunshine, a little fresh air —do you good."

Trip still looked uncertain. "I don't know ..."

Archer understood. "Uninhabited, Trip." Trip didn't look entirely convinced. "You won't be left alone," Archer reassured him.

Trip shook his head. "Stupid of me, I know."

"No, it isn't. You wouldn't be human if you didn't feel this way. But tell me something, Trip —are you really going to let them win?"

****

"Take it easy, Commander. Here, I've got you."

"Thanks, Travis."

"Okay, here's your wheelchair."

Trip blinked. It was a beautiful bright sunny day, and his eyes weren't used to it. He felt a nudge, looked over. Mayweather was holding a pair of sunglasses. "Thanks," he said again, and swayed slightly.

"Commander, you'd better sit down," the ensign advised.

"Good idea," Trip agreed faintly, and allowed Travis to help him into his chair.

Enterprise's helmsman then pointed out across the meadow. "See that big tree over there?" At the engineer's nod, he continued. "It's actually sitting at the top of a little hill that slopes down to the lake."

Trip looked up at him. "And?"

"And the Captain told me to tell you that's your bird-watching spot."

****

"So, how's it going?" Archer sat down beside Trip, who was lying on a blanket underneath the spreading branches of a tree that was eerily similar to an earth oak tree.

"Um," the younger man said drowsily. "I must have dozed off." He sat up, yawned. "But before I did, I counted six of those blue birds, eight of the ones with the red dots on their backs, and about a million of those brown-and-yellow ones." He looked at Archer, smiled slightly. "Want me to write a report for Subcommander T'Pol?"

Archer grinned. "'About a million'," he quoted. "I can just imagine what she'd say about that."

"Well, I might have exaggerated a little bit," Trip admitted. "But those little guys are everywhere. Bold as all get-out, too. One of 'em landed on my blanket, and looked at me as if to say, who the hell are you and what are you doing under my tree?"

"Write a report like that and our Vulcan will have a logical meltdown."

"Aw — I wouldn't want to drive her that crazy. I kind of owe her," he added by way of explanation. "Malcolm told me she cracked the bank codes. On Tasumi."

Archer nodded. Trip looked up. "Getting late," he said. "I'd better get Travis to take me back to _Enterprise_." He sighed. "Nice place, though. Thanks for talking me into coming down, Captain."

"Why are you going back to Enterprise if you like it down here so much? I'm going to pitch a tent and stay the night."

"Right," said Trip. "And at 3 in the morning, I'll have a nightmare, and my screams will wake the whole damn crew up." He shook his head. "Better not."

"You're exaggerating again, Trip."

Trip cocked a wry brow at this. "You going to sit there and tell me that I sleep like a lamb all night?"

"No. But you don't make that much noise."

"Even if that's true, I don't think the Chief Engineer crying in his sleep is something the crew should be hearing."

"Well, I thought I'd set my tent up around here," said Archer. "I have no idea where the rest of them will be, though."

Trip was wavering. "Sounds nice. Going to build a fire?"

Archer nodded. "And then lay back and watch the stars come out. See if I can find Sol."

Trip exhaled, looked narrowly at the Captain. "You know, you fight really dirty," he said. "You do realize that, don't you?"

****

Archer woke, turned over in his sleeping bag. Trip was whimpering quietly in his sleep. "Trip," he said gently, "You're all right." The younger man moaned softly.

Archer put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You're safe," he assured him. Trip, still sleeping, turned in his own bag. His blond head was now only inches from the Captain's. He cried out softly.

Archer sighed, put his arms around the sleeping man. He could feel Trip trembling. Even in his sleep, he thought. What little he had heard of Trip's story had been horrifying enough; God only knew what else his friend had been subjected to. _What other nightmares I don't know about are romping through that head of yours right now?_ "You're all right," he murmured again.

Trip sighed, and Archer could feel him starting to relax. His breathing became slower, quieter, and his shivering stopped.

Archer thought he would hold him for just a few minutes longer, in order to be certain he was all right, and then gently disengage. He closed his own eyes. And fell asleep.

****

He awoke the next morning to find Trip curled up against him, deeply asleep.

Archer still had an arm draped across the younger man, and hurriedly, he removed it. This was just getting all too strange for words. Although if he were totally honest with himself, there was something about Trip's slight form against his own that felt — that felt right, goddammit!

The tent flap pushed open, and a pair of doggy eyes regarded him. "You're up early," Archer observed. At this, Porthos ran into the tent, galloping across Trip's prone form and leaping with joyous abandon onto Archer's chest. Archer fell back, and helpless with laughter, tried to fend off the beagle's affectionate licks.

At this, Trip awoke. Porthos proceeded to leap on him, and subject him to the same wake-up call. Trip grinned. "Four legged alarm clock," he said. His duty done, Porthos scampered out of the tent. "Busy," Trip observed.

"Lots to do," Archer agreed. There was a moment's comfortable silence. "How'd you sleep, Trip?"

"Actually, pretty good," Trip said, sounding surprised. "I don't remember any bad dreams, anyhow. Maybe it's all this fresh air. Or something."

"Or something."

****

Trip felt someone's presence beside him. Reluctantly, he put his binoculars down. He had become quite engrossed in the small dramas taking place amongst the feathered set on the lake below.

He looked up to see Subcommander T'Pol giving him her calm regard. "Commander."

"Subcommander," he replied, equally formal. “I'm not on duty. You can call me Trip, if you want.”

"I would not have thought you interested in ornithology, Commander."

He sighed mentally. _Fine._ But he kept his tone conversational. "Generally, no. But I'm kind of limited, seeing as I'm not really mobile yet. So the Captain gave me these," indicating the binoculars, "as a way to pass the time."

"I see," the Vulcan replied.

"Why don't you sit down?" He invited. When she appeared to hesitate, he added, "Looking up at you is giving me a stiff neck."

She complied.

"Have you guys found anything interesting?" he asked.

"Dr. Phlox is quite enthused over some of the flora and fauna here," was her reply.

"Great," Trip sighed. "More potions."

"That seems to be a rather peculiar attitude," she said. "I would have thought that you would be appreciative of the doctor's expertise."

"Oh, I am, I am," Trip said hastily. "Don't get me wrong on that count. But if you had to take as many pills and such-like as I've been taking, you might understand my point of view."

"I see," she replied, although he knew she did not. He also knew trying to explain further would only confuse matters more.

Instead, he said, "I hear I owe you a big thanks."

She raised a brow. "For your help," he added. "With the Tasumi bank codes and all that."

" _Enterprise_ needed her chief engineer back. I merely did what was required in order to achieve that."

Trip counted to ten. "Maybe. But you ought to know by now that we poor struggling humans have this emotional need to say thanks. So, I am."

"Then — you are welcome."

He was mildly surprised. "Oh. Okay. But I still owe you."

She did not immediately reply to this. Instead, she turned and gave him a deep, searching look that seemed to last forever. Finally, she asked, "Commander — how are you?"

He was astonished. He knew that Vulcans did not engage in so-called "small talk", so she was expecting a more detailed answer than a simple "okay" from him.

He sighed. "Really? Well, I have some good days — like today. But I also have one helluva lot more bad ones."

"The memories of what happened to you. They are troubling?"

"That's putting it mildly."

She contemplated the lake for a moment. Then: "I may be able to offer you some assistance in that area."

****

Archer came up beside Trip. The younger man was lost in thought, a million miles away — or more.

"Trip?" He was worried. "You all right?"

Trip started, minutely. "Sorry, Captain."

Archer sat beside him. "Looks like you've got something on your mind."

"That's for damn sure." At Archer's look of surprise, he explained. "T'Pol was just here. And she made me the damnedest offer I've ever heard."

"Which was?"

"She said that she could use telepathic contact to 'submerge' those memories that are bothering me. That I'd forget what happened." He looked at Archer. "Doesn't that just beat all?"

"It sure does. Going to take her up on it?"

"I don't know," Trip said slowly. "I'd be a liar if I said it wasn't real tempting. No more bad dreams. No more feeling dirty all the time. Not feeling them — hearing them — seeing them all the time in my mind's eye. I'd like that." He looked at Archer. "Kind of the coward's way out, though, isn't it?"

"You're a lot of things, Trip, but a coward? No. That's the last word I'd use to describe you."

Trip was silent. "It's real tempting," he finally said again. "And yet, it doesn't feel right. Does that make any sense to you? I mean, here's a nice, neat solution to all my problems. Practically tied up in a big red bow. I could go off all the meds. Get back on active duty. Get on with my life. And yet ..." He fell silent, brooding.

"It's not a one-time offer, is it?" Archer asked.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, you can say 'no' today and 'yes' tomorrow if you want, right?"

"Pretty much. She said she was willing 'at any time'."

"Then why not leave it at that? It's an option you now know you have. If you — and Phlox —‑ think it's the way to go, then go that way. If not, then don't. Whatever works, Trip. But don't reject anything out of hand that might help."

"Sounds like a good idea." He smiled faintly. "You could have knocked me over with a feather when she made the offer. I didn't know she cared."

Archer grinned. "Sometimes I think she makes a career out of surprising all of us poor dumb humans." Trip nodded.

"Speaking of feathers ... " Archer continued.

"Oh, yeah. Captain, you should see what these little guys have been up to. I swear ..."


	13. Thirteen

"It's just so damned ... frustrating, sometimes."

Phlox nodded sympathetically.

"I keep telling myself that things are going to get better, you know?"

"I do indeed."

"And for a while, they are. And then — pow! It all comes crashing down again."

"And that makes you feel?"

"Like I said. Frustrated. Even angry sometimes. I know I shouldn't, but —"

"— there is no 'should' or 'shouldn't' when it comes to these kind of matters."

"Maybe. But then, I feel guilty. About being frustrated and angry. And I become afraid. I worry that these feelings are going to get in the way, and end up making everything worse."

"I see."

Archer looked up at that. "Do you? Or are you just saying that to make me feel better?"

"No, I do see, Captain. It's always disheartening when a patient takes a step backward — even when it's expected."

The Captain nodded. "I know. I keep telling myself that. But intellectually knowing something and experiencing it are two different things." He sighed. "Still. He was doing so well! And now? He's shut down again. Not only that. He's being difficult this time. Cranky. Irritable." He tried to smile. "Although God knows that after what he's been through, he's earned the right to be a little cranky."

"But you're still angry with him."

"Actually, I wanted to wring his neck this morning." He looked up again. "Nice, huh?"

"Perfectly understandable and natural. You are, after all, the Commander's primary caregiver. Not an easy position to find oneself in."

"I know he's not doing this deliberately." But Archer's voice rose on a faintly interrogative note, and Phlox saw the question in the human's eyes.

He hastened to reassure the Captain. "He isn't. But as you get closer to whatever it is that happened to him which continues to fuel this trauma, the more he will resist."

"It's hard to believe there's something more traumatic than what he's already told me," Archer replied grimly.

"Perhaps. But there is something."

"It's just so damn hard. And now? These physical symptoms. The upset stomach..."

"This worries you?"

"Of course it worries me! Have you taken a good look at the man? He's already lost way too much weight!" He stopped. "Sorry. I shouldn't take it out on you. Sorry," he repeated.

"That's where you are mistaken, Captain." At Archer's incredulous look, the doctor clarified. "Why do you think we have these sessions?"

Archer gaped at him. "To keep you updated as to Trip's condition."

"Only partially," was Phlox's reply. "These sessions are also for your benefit, Captain. As I said, you are in an extremely stressful situation. I would be remiss if I did not ensure your needs were being looked after as well as the Commander's."

Archer smiled, very faintly. "I appreciate that. Thanks, doc." He sobered.

"You know what I really want? It's pretty simple, actually."

"What?"

"I want my old friend back."

*****

"Hey, Hoshi."

"Captain," she whispered.

"He asleep?"

She shook her head, gestured. Archer raised a brow, but followed her into the corridor nonetheless.

"He's been curled up in bed all morning," she told him worriedly. "Won't talk to anyone — not even Porthos. I tried to get him to." She looked down. "The Commander has never been that rude before. Ever."

"He's not himself," Archer reminded her. "He's in a lot of distress right now. Emotionally and physically."

"I know," she said. "But still —"

"Hoshi," Archer said gently. "Remember what Phlox said? Right now, Trip's trying to protect himself. He's been terribly hurt, and he's afraid to face that. So he pushes everyone away. Hopes if he's left alone, he won't have to deal with what's hurting him. The trick is not to let it get to you. Okay?"

"Okay," she said. "I'll try."

"Good. I'll stay with him now. You go on."

She smiled. "Thanks, Captain."

"No, thank you, Hoshi." He smiled briefly, then reentered his quarters.

"Have a good gossip?"

Archer started minutely. Trip still had his back to him (and the world) but it was obvious he was wide awake.

"Not really," he replied. "Although I heard you were rude to Hoshi. Were you?"

Trip did not answer.

"I asked you a question, Commander," Archer said, his voice sharp.

"I suppose. If you consider 'fuck off' to be rude."

"And just when wouldn't it be rude?"

Trip turned, glared at him. "When someone is poking her oh-so-cute nose into something that's none of her damned business, that's when!"

"You're going to apologize."

"The hell I am!"

Archer's voice was like a whip crack. "You may be on sick leave, but that is no excuse. I will not tolerate this kind of behaviour from my senior staff. Do you understand?"

Trip stared, his eyes wide.

"Am I completely clear, Commander?"

Trip was still silent.

"I know what you're doing," Archer added, "and it's not going to work."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," was the sullen response.

"Bull. You talk to Phlox just like I do. I know he tells you the same thing he tells me. So don't play dumb, Trip. It doesn't become you, and, frankly, I find it insulting."

Trip glared at him again. Archer held his gaze until finally, the younger man dropped his eyes. "Okay," he muttered, still sullen, "I'll apologize."

"Good. See that you do."

Archer went into the bathroom, came out with a pill and water. "Doctor's orders."

Still sulking, Trip nevertheless obeyed, taking the pill. "All of the water," Archer ordered. "You're close to becoming dehydrated." Trip scowled in response, but drained the glass.

"Now go to sleep."

Trip's scowl became deeper. "Is that an order, too, _sir_?"

"You bet your ass it is. Now go to sleep." _Before things get really out of hand around here_.

*****

Archer awoke with a start, switched on the light. Quickly, he got out of bed, and hurried over to Trip's.

The engineer was curled in on himself, trembling violently. He was weeping; deep, wrenching sobs that filled the room with the sounds of his pain and despair. Porthos, huddled at the end of the bed, whined worriedly.

"Trip!" Archer reached out. Trip tried to squirm away, but the Captain refused to let him. He laid a hand on the quivering shoulder. "Trip," he repeated.

"No," was the whimpering reply.

"What's wrong?"

Trip simply trembled again.

Archer sighed. There only seemed to be one thing he could do. It had worked downplanet; maybe it would work again here. Sighing again, he crawled into bed beside his friend, lay down and put his arms around the younger man. He thought Trip would tense up, fight him, try and move away. Instead, the engineer turned and rested a hot and damp forehead against the captain's chest.

_He's like a small child, afraid of the dark_ , Archer thought with sudden fierce compassion. He momentarily released Trip to pull the blankets up over them, and Trip whimpered again. "It's all right," Archer soothed, "I'm here." He was filled with a sudden, helpless rage at those who had reduced Trip to this state.

But to say anything about it would only upset the younger man more. He suppressed another sigh, and drew his friend back into a comforting embrace.

"Sorry," Trip gasped. "So sorry."

"No apologies." He began to rub Trip's back; gentle, reassuring touches, trying to ease the tense and frightened muscles he felt under his touch.

"Try and relax," he murmured.

"No," the engineer moaned. "I — I can't sleep. I don't want to sleep! Please — don't make me sleep!" He was nearly hysterical.

_What the hell did they do to you?_ "Okay. You don't have to sleep. It's okay."

He held Trip silently for a few minutes, and felt his trembling start to lessen.

"No one's going to hurt you," he reassured him again.

"God," Trip said, nearly crying again, "I'm such a mess. When is this going to end? Will it ever end?"

"Ssshhh," was his Captain's response.

"I'm sorry," Trip repeated. "I don't know why I've been such a bastard lately, but I'm sorry.'

"You certainly have been," Archer replied blandly. "But you're forgiven." Trip managed a faint smile at this.

Archer dimmed the lights. "Try and rest, Trip."

"I — I can't. The dreams. They're really bad, Captain. Really bad."

"Okay. Want to talk?"

Trip sighed tremulously. "Not really."

"Going to lay here all night then, just staring at nothing?"

"Doesn't sound that great when you put it that way."

"Well, the way I see it, you've got three choices."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Like I said, lie awake and stare at nothing."

"Not good."

"Or, try and sleep."

"Nightmares. No thanks."

"Or talk."

"About what?"

"Whatever."

"You mean more about — what happened?"

"Only if you want to, Trip."

"And if I don't?"

"Then whatever you want."

"Really?"

"Really."

>   
> _"Keep your eyes closed."_
> 
> _"What have you done now, my love?"_
> 
> _"You'll see."_
> 
> _Lord Maya guided his lady into Trip's room. The engineer was waiting, kneeling. Al-Saahn looked on, ready to note any wrong move on his part, and make him pay for it later._
> 
> _"Open them," the Lord said, and stepped back, smiling._
> 
> _Lady Vala did, and saw Trip, kneeling before her, head bowed, hands crossed behind his back._
> 
> _She clapped her hands in delight. "For me?"_
> 
> _Her husband nodded. "For all those times when I must leave you. A new toy."_
> 
> _"Oh, he's beautiful!"_
> 
> _"Look at your Mistress," Al-Saahn ordered._
> 
> _Trip raised his head. She gasped in delight. "Blue eyes!"_
> 
> _Her husband nodded, smiled. His lady threw her arms around him. "Oh, thank you! You're so good to me!"_
> 
> _"He pleases you?"_
> 
> _"He's gorgeous!" She looked at Al-Saahn._
> 
> _"The Teacher has been working with him, My Lady," the House Master told her.  
>  "He reports that he is relatively unrefined, but is young and strong."_
> 
> _She beamed._
> 
> _"Stand," Al-Saahn ordered. "Your Mistress wishes to look at you."_
> 
> _Trip got to his feet, stared ahead at nothing. He was still aware of her gaze, as she looked him up and down, and he felt his face burn._ A slice of meat _, he thought,_ that's what I've become.
> 
> _"So," the Lord said genially. "I can leave tomorrow, knowing you'll be kept amused?"_
> 
> _Her face fell. "You leave tomorrow?"_
> 
> _"Alas, I must. I'm sorry."_
> 
> _"Oh, well. Yes, I think I shall be amused."_
> 
> _Her husband took her arm. "Come, my beloved."_
> 
> _She smiled, and then looked at Al-Saahn. "Make sure he sleeps tonight." She gave Trip another look. "I want him well rested."_
> 
> _Al-Saahn bowed. "As My Mistress wishes."_   
> 

Trip sighed, and Archer pulled him closer. _Funny_ , he thought, _you'd think he'd shrink away from this close contact_. But Trip allowed it. Obviously, he derived some comfort from it. As for Archer himself ... well, it was strange, but he found it comforting, too.

> _"Wake up!"_
> 
> _Trip jerked out of the drugged sleep he had been, looked dazedly around._
> 
> _Al-Saahn, followed by the usual gaggle of servants, loomed over him. "Get him ready," he ordered. "His Mistress awaits."_
> 
> _Again he was bathed, shaved, freshened. He knew better by now than to struggle; instead, he simply stood passively and allowed them to do what they would with him. Easier that way. Less painful, too. His preparations complete, he was brought back before Al-Saahn._
> 
> _The House Master had a vial in his hands. "Here." Trip stared dumbly at him, not understanding. Al-Saahn sighed with a mixture of irritation and impatience, and snapped his fingers. Two burly guards stepped forward, grabbed the engineer._
> 
> _A third guard took the vial. It contained what Trip would come to know later as stimulant oil. Grinning, the guard began to apply it. Trip closed his eyes, so he wouldn't have to see the leering expression on the other man's face. He felt the oil on his nipples, his stomach, back and ass, and finally, on his sex. The man lingered there just a little bit longer, stroking him lightly._
> 
> _"That's enough," Al-Saahn said dryly. He snapped his fingers again, and Trip was hustled down the hall, his face burning with a mixture of shame and rage, and his body already beginning to respond to the oil._
> 
> _He was shown into a large room dominated by a circular bed. Lady Vala was already lounging on the bed, clad in a light negligee._
> 
> _"Ah, there you are," the Mistress of the House said, smiling. She patted the bedspread. "Come. Let us become acquainted."_
> 
> _Archer looked at Trip, who looked away. “You don't have to say anything else,” the Captain told him._
> 
> _“No, it's okay,” the engineer whispered._
> 
> _Trip lay back, exhausted. He had been "serving" Her Ladyship all day. For such a small woman, she had what seemed to be an insatiable appetite._
> 
> _The Lady turned, smiled, and drew a lingering finger down his stomach. He wondered uneasily if she was going to try and get him going again. He wasn't sure he could rise to the occasion one more time._
> 
> _"Pretty," she said reflectively. "What am I going to call you, pretty boy?"_
> 
> _He remained silent. "Such lovely blue eyes." She smiled. "I think I shall call you 'Blue Boy'."_
> 
> _He thought briefly of Gainsborough's masterpiece. He certainly was not that kind of blue boy. Then, he remembered the slang expression for soft-core porn; "Baby blues". That was a little more appropriate._
> 
> _Blue. The colour of his uniform. The colour of his old life aboard Enterprise. His throat tightened, and he blinked hard, savagely driving the tears back. He would not think of that now. It hurt too much._
> 
> _Fortunately, the Lady did not notice. She sighed, stretched in contentment, and smiled at him again. "Off you go, my Blue. Get some rest, you poor tired pet. We'll play again later."_
> 
> _"Yes, Mistress." It was as much as he had said all day._
> 
> _"Good boy," she murmured._
> 
> _Slowly, he arose, managed to stumble across the room. Waiting outside were two servants, who led him off to the bathroom, where once again he was cleaned up. He was then allowed to return to his room._

"I don't remember much," Trip said. "Crawled into bed and fell asleep." He sighed.

Archer looked inquiringly at him. Trip was frowning, looking at the floor.

“What is it, Trip?” 

“I – I'm not sure what I think about her,” the younger man finally confessed.

“How so, Trip?”

The engineer frowned, considering. His feelings about the Lady Vala were definitely mixed. On the one hand ...

“She was nice to me,” he finally said. “The only one who really was. I think ... I think Al-Saahn was ...” He stopped, shook his head. “No, that's crazy.”

“Tell me anyhow.”

Trip looked at his captain. “I think Al-Saahn was in love with her and he was jealous,” he said in a rush. “I think that's why he was always finding reasons to punish me. But that's nuts, isn't it?”

“No, not really,” said Archer after a moment's thought. He recalled the petite, dark-haired woman who stood by her lord. His first impression of her had been that she was quite pretty. And if she was kind, as Trip said? Then yes, a slave could fall in love with a kind mistress. “Do you think she knew?”

“What? That he loved her? Or that he was jealous?”

“Both.”

“I think ... I think that she might have known he loved her, but didn't let herself think about it. It wouldn't have been right. And as for the other ... “ Trip thought a moment. “She used to tell them to let me stay in her playroom. To bring me my meals there. He couldn't touch me in there. So maybe she guessed. But she wouldn't openly interfere with the way he ran the household, see?”

“So she sounds nice. I mean, as nice as you can be, all things considering.”

“Yeah. But then ...”

“What?”

> _“Is he ready?”_
> 
> _“Yes, Mistress.”_
> 
> _“Where are you, Blue?”_
> 
> _Trip approached the Mistress, his eyes respectfully downcast as protocol demanded. She applauded. “Oh, he looks wonderful! Thank you, Al-Saahn. I can always count on you!” She looked around. “Where is it?”_
> 
> _One of the servants stepped forward, handed her a piece of clothing. It was a deep blue velvet cape. She draped it around Trip's shoulders, fastened it up. “It brings out the colour of those lovely eyes perfectly!” She smiled. “Now come along, Blue!”_
> 
> _She led him along a corridor to a room he had never been into before. It was a solarium, containing dozens of exotic plants blooming under the Tasumi sun. Set in the middle was a table that would not have looked out of place on any sidewalk cafe on earth. And sitting around it were several women, who, to judge by their dress, were of the Lady's class. Friends, possibly. Or friendly rivals, at the very least._
> 
> _“Hello, girls,” she smiled. “I want you to see what my darling husband bought for me on his last trip out! Miranami, you are just going to die when you see this!”_

“She ended up showing me off like I was ... Like I was her new car or something,” Trip finally said. There was bitterness as well as sorrow in his voice.

“So she cared for you in the same way she would care for a pet,” Archer said.

“I don't know about that,” his friend replied. “I've had plenty of cats and dogs over the years and I've never treated them like that.”

“Then maybe you're right. She thought of you like a new car or a piece of jewellery. That doesn't mean that's what you are, you know.”

“Yeah, I know.” He sighed. “Still, I guess it could have been worse. At least she cared enough to take care of me.” Despite himself, a tear leaked down his cheek, and angrily, he wiped it away. “Damn it!”

“Give yourself a break,” Archer said. “You're allowed to feel badly about this.” He gave his friend a reassuring hug. "It's okay, Trip."

Trip sighed faintly. "You're putting up with one hell of a lot."

"You've been through one hell of a lot."

Trip sighed again, then yawned.

"Tired? Think you might try sleeping?"

"Yeah," Trip said drowsily.

"Do you want me to go back to my own bed? Or I'll stay. It's up to you."

"If you don't mind staying," Trip said, shyly.

"No," said Archer, "I don't mind."

And the strangest thing was, it was the truth.


	14. Fourteen

Archer blinked once, and then, as was his usual habit, was wide awake. He looked around. He was still in Trip's bed, and the younger man was curled up against him, his blond head resting on the Captain's chest. He was asleep; his lashes lay cleanly against his cheeks, but Archer could still observe the tracks of tears on his face. Seeing this, he sighed, and shifted very slightly.

Trip sighed in turn, and murmured, but did not waken. Archer decided not to disturb him by getting up. He told himself that Trip needed all the rest he could get. He slipped his arm under Trip's shoulders. Trip mumbled something, then snuggled closer to his captain. His hair tumbled over his forehead, and Archer raised his other hand, gently smoothed it back.

As he did so, he once again noted the dark circles under Trip's eyes, the pallor of his skin, and the sunken hollows of his cheeks. And the frightening thing was that Trip's appearance had improved since he had been brought back aboard _Enterprise_. _Bastards_ , he thought, referring to the Volashas. He wondered how they could have kept Trip under their roof all that time, apparently as a great favourite, and not notice his deterioration. _Talk about wilful blindness_.

With a slight start, he realized that he had been absently stroking Trip's shoulders and back as he had been thinking. He should really stop, he supposed. But it seemed to be helping Trip to relax. And damn if it didn't seem to be relaxing him, too. The younger man sighed again, but did not waken.

_What the hell is going on here?_ He asked himself. He'd never avoided looking facts in the face before, and this was not the time to start.

All right. So. What about Trip?

Trip.

It was safe to say that he'd liked Trip from the moment they'd first met. He still smiled at the memory of that indignant southern drawl, seeming to come out of thin air. "There's nothing wrong with that engine!" And Trip had been right. It's was Trip's instincts that had led him to isolate the problems in the fuel mix. And it was Trip, the one-man flight crew, that made the subsequent piracy he and A.G. had carried out possible.

They'd spent a lot of time together after that, hadn't they? From survival training at Alice Springs (where Trip had bitched and moaned every step of the way, but had been one of the few still left standing at its conclusion) to coral diving off the Florida Keys to deep space training at Jupiter Station, Trip was always there, always the point to his counterpoint, always dependable, always reliable, always ready to provide him with companionship, advice and laughter.

And in the years following all of that. All that time, working side-by-side, getting _Enterprise_ ready. It was this man sleeping beside him who had taken Henry Archer's basic concepts and turned them into a working reality. Trip was the mind behind many of _Enterprise's_ designs, although this was not something many knew.

He'd taken it all for granted. He hadn't realize how much it meant to him to have Trip by his side until the engineer went missing. Trip's disappearance during shore leave had turned what had been a pleasant holiday up till then into a nightmare of fear and distress. He'd haunted the hospitals, and could still remember with perfect clarity the horrible sinking of his heart when he had been called on to identify a body found on the beach, and the indescribable relief that had followed when it had turned out that it was not Trip, but not even human. And then patient weeks of work, tracking his trail across half a dozen systems, until finding him on Tasumi.

Somehow, Trip had managed to survive the abuse he had suffered there, although Archer still didn't know how. Even more astonishing, it seemed that Trip had already come to terms with what Archer had been forced to do to him. Witness him peacefully sleeping in the arms of the man who had put him on display for the amusement of his tormentors.

And now, Archer mused, he had his friend back. Naturally, he was relieved. But this relieved? The truth was, the thought of trying to go on without Trip in his life was an intolerable one. And what exactly did that mean?

Trip was his best friend. Naturally, it's a relief to get his best friend back. Yes, it would be so very easy to leave it at that, wouldn't it? Except that wasn't precisely and completely true anymore, was it?

_But_ , a small voice protested, _I'm not gay_. He'd always been attracted to women. Still was. Perhaps. But this had very little to do with a base attraction, did it? No. It was something far more dangerous than that.

Somehow, somewhere and at some time, he'd passed from friendship into...Go ahead — say it. He'd never shied away from the truth before, had he? Somehow — 

"Captain?" Trip had awoken. Archer started slightly, and then looked down into those blue eyes. Trip looked away; obviously he was unsure of how to react to this.

Archer smiled at him. Keeping his voice light and casual, he said, "Hey. How'd you sleep?"

Trip looked up hesitantly. He saw nothing but warmth in Archer's eyes. He could feel the Captain gently stroking his shoulders and back, and strangely enough, he found that touch brought him comfort than otherwise. "Pretty good," he said, surprised. "I didn't think I would, but I did." He yawned.

"Still tired?"

He nodded.

"Then go back to sleep, Trip. God knows you need the rest."

He looked questioningly at Archer. "It's okay," the Captain told him. "Really," he added, when Trip still hesitated.

Slowly, he placed his head back on Archer's chest. It was funny — but this felt right somehow, didn't it? He could feel the Captain's steady breathing, and that he was still gently stroking his back. It was strange. But good.

"Close your eyes," Archer said.

He'd always obeyed orders, hadn't he? This was no time to start doing otherwise. He closed his eyes, allowing himself to relax. The Captain kept gently stroking his back, and Trip found himself enjoying the touch. _It's all very weird_ , he thought again, just before sleep overtook him once again.

****

When he woke, much later, he was alone. Not surprising, really. After all, he was the one on sick leave, not the Captain. He lay quietly for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. He'd slept better this morning than he had for ages. Except for the camping trip last week. He'd thought it was the fresh air that had been responsible. Obviously, that was not the case here, was it? The only other constant in this particular equation was the presence of the Captain. No. Strike that. The Captain had been sleeping in the same room with him for weeks.

But not in the same bed.

He exhaled. Well, this was an eye-opener, wasn't it?

He welcomed the chance to seize on and think about something other than what he had been through on Tasumi, but this was a damned odd line of thought he was pursuing.

Jonathan Archer.

Seemed like there wasn't a time in his life when he hadn't known this man. That wasn't true of course, but it still seemed that way.

He could still recall their first meeting, clear as day. God, he'd gone and put his foot into it that day, hadn't he? Lipping off to the Vulcans like that. And with Forrest standing right there, too. But the Captain — no, he was actually a Commander then — hadn't reprimanded him at all.

And then having a beer together that night. Brother, Robinson and Archer had really gone at it. Beat the hell out of each other. And yet, just a few days later, they'd worked together to prove that Henry Archer's engine wasn't the heap of junk the Vulcans claimed it was. He'd helped out there, too. Damned lucky all three of them hadn't been drummed out of Starfleet for that little stunt.

Instead of a court-martial, their respective careers had flourished. Both of them had found themselves on the fast track. Only a few years later, he had achieved the rank of Commander, and more importantly, Chief Engineer of _Enterprise_ , while Archer had become her captain.

But in the years leading up to that, they'd had some times together, hadn't they? Survival training at Alice Springs. He'd have gone crazy from the heat and the damned flies if Archer hadn't been there to encourage him to tough it out. And the deep space training? Hell, Archer had saved his life. Only Archer could have reached him through the haze of nitrogen narcosis, and kept him from literally blowing his own head off.

And all those long, long hours getting _Enterprise_ ready. There were times when he'd been ready to bang his head against the nearest bulkhead because of his frustration. But it seemed that the Captain was always there, encouraging him, calming him down, helping him slog through it and solve all the endless problems involved in building the first long-range warp 5 starship.

Yeah. A lot of time together. It was the Captain who kept him grounded, kept him from flying off the handle, kept him from allowing his own impulsiveness to lead him into trouble.

When he'd heard Archer's voice in that room in the Volasha's house, he'd honestly thought he was dreaming. And when he understood that it was no dream, the realization that Archer had come to take him home was like a ray of bright light, piercing the despair that had covered him like a blanket.

He had no idea what it had cost the Captain to behave in a way so contrary to his nature while downplanet, but he suspected that the price Archer had paid had been a high one.

As far as he was concerned, though, he would have let Archer hang him by the thumbs all night if it had meant being able to leave at the end of it. Having sex with the Captain had been strange, but nowhere near as bad as his other encounters.

He puzzled over that for a moment, then realized that the difference was quite a simple one, really: unlike everyone else who'd had him, the Captain actually cared about what happened to him.

He turned on his side, dislodging Porthos, who responded with an affronted yelp. "Sorry," he muttered, still lost in thought.

_But I don't swing that way_ , a small voice protested. Yeah, okay — he'd had sex with men, but that wasn't by choice. He shuddered slightly — better not get on that track again. So, as far as he was concerned, all of that didn't count. Mind you, when he came to think of it, he'd also had a lot of non-consensual sex with women, too, lately. Still, he definitely preferred women.

_Wait a minute _, that voice objected. “Preferred”? What the hell does that mean?__

__He rolled onto his back again, stared at the ceiling, exhaled. He remembered reading somewhere that human beings tended to have a "range" when it came to sexual attraction. Some people had their own private compass set directly at north or south, however the case may be, but most people had a few degrees of what you might call "latitude" in these matters._ _

__This wasn't about sex, though, was it? Right now, his interest in that particular activity was in the minus range. Phlox had told him that a "lowered libido" was a natural outcome of his PSTD, depression and recent events in his life. Sounded reasonable, although Trip sometimes suspected it was just because he was exhausted. "Tuckered out", you might say. He smiled slightly, then sobered again._ _

__If not about sex, then what? About something far more dangerous than a bout of slap-and-tickle, it seemed. Jonathan Archer had been his best friend for what had seemed like forever. That was something he could wrap his head around. But now, things had changed. It had been so subtle, happened so slowly, that he really hadn't noticed it, until being kidnapped and sold into slavery — melodramatic but true — had brought this forcibly to his attention._ _

__Somehow, somewhere and at some time, he'd gone from friendship to —_ _

__"Commander?"_ _

__He started slightly, and looked over to see Dr. Phlox giving him his usual benign regard._ _

__"Doc. Hi."_ _

__"Am I disturbing you?"_ _

__"No. Just doing a little wool-gathering."_ _

__"I see."_ _

_I really doubt it, Doc_ , Trip thought with tired amusement, _I really do_.

****

"Trip?" Archer looked around, faintly alarmed. As far as he could see, their quarters were empty. Trip's wheelchair still sat at the end of his bed, and Archer knew that the engineer was still not able to walk for any great distance, so it was doubtful he was trundling around the ship somewhere.

__Then he heard the sound of water running, and let out a sigh that was one of mingled relief and exasperation. He went to the bathroom, looked in._ _

__Trip was leaning against the wall, eyes closed, while a stream of water pounded his back._ _

__"Trip," Archer said gently._ _

__His friend started, opened his eyes. "Captain."_ _

__Archer turned the water off, threw him a towel. "Come on."_ _

__Drying himself off, Trip followed him back to his bed. He sat on the bedside, rubbing his hair, looked up, and saw Archer's regard on him._ _

__"My back ached," he explained._ _

__Archer sighed. "Trip," he said, "I really don't want you taking showers unattended. If you get dizzy, you could fall. Hurt yourself."_ _

__Trip sighed in turn. "Do I have to, Captain?"_ _

__"I'd prefer it if you did, Trip. I know it's annoying, and believe me, I'm not happy about asking you to give up your privacy, but until you're better, I want you to promise me. Someone watching you."_ _

__Trip exhaled slowly. "All right. I promise."_ _

__"It should be only for a little while longer," Archer said encouragingly. "Once you're no longer having any dizzy spells, it won't be necessary. Okay?"_ _

__"Okay."_ _

__"Lay down," Archer told him. He brought out some of Phlox's muscle relaxant. "Let's see if we can ease that aching back."__

 _ _****__

 _ _Archer put his book down. Bedtime. And now, he had a decision to make. Did he go to his own bed, or climb in with Trip?_ _

__He couldn't believe he was actually asking this question, but he was. He considered. He could go to his own bed, but the chances were more than good that he'd end up over with Trip sometime during the night because of Trip's nightmares. It would certainly be more efficient to stay in one place, wouldn't it?_ _

__But what would Trip think? He was half asleep right now. What would his reaction be if his Captain just strolled over there and hopped into bed with him? And especially considering everything he'd been through, too. Well, if Trip objected, that would be it. He wouldn't push it._ _

__He closed the book, dimmed the lights, and then walked over to the engineer's bedside. Trip looked up at him drowsily. "Bedtime?"_ _

__"Yep."_ _

__"'Kay."_ _

__Archer sat on the bedside, waited for Trip to demand just what the hell he thought he was doing. Instead, Trip simply shifted over, making room for him. He was amused to note that Porthos also moved._ _

__Silently, he lay down, pulled the blankets up over both of them. Trip turned on his side, curled up against him. "G'night," he murmured._ _

__"Night, Trip."_ _

__There was no answer. He looked over. Trip, his head resting on Archer's shoulder, was already sound asleep. Lightly, he stroked the younger man's hair._ _

_Will wonders never cease_ , he thought, then stretched out and fell fast asleep himself. 


	15. Fifteen

When Archer blinked, and awoke the next morning, he realized that for the first time in what had seemed like forever, Trip had slept the night through without any bad dreams. Or, at least, he amended, bad enough to make him cry aloud. And since Trip had slept through the night, so had he.

He found that he was lying on his side, with Trip spooned comfortably up against him. Sometime in the night, Archer had slipped an arm over his friend, and that arm was still there, resting with an easy familiarity around Trip's waist.

The younger man was still deeply asleep; his breathing was soft, even and regular. At the bottom of the bed, Porthos looked up, wagged his tail. A little crowded, Archer thought. Trip's bed was an adjustable hospital bed, and so narrower than the usual bunk.

_Maybe tonight I'll get him to sleep in my bed_. He then realized he was assuming they'd be sleeping together again. Well, if it meant no more nightmares for Trip, why not?

Carefully, he removed his arm. Trip murmured—was it in protest? Apparently it was, because he turned in his sleep, seeking Archer's warmth, and snuggled up against the Captain again.

Archer sighed. This was insane. And so comfortable that he hated to leave. But the Captain of the _Enterprise_ couldn't spend the entire morning in bed with his chief engineer.

And damned if that was an extremely tempting idea. He considered it. Why the hell not? T'Pol could run things for a few hours, couldn't she?

He sat up. Trip muttered in his sleep. "Don't wake up," Archer told him. "I'll be right back."

He went into the bathroom, and then when finished, called the bridge.

Naturally, T'Pol answered.

"What's our status?"

"Proceeding on course to the Zellinga System, Captain."

"How long until we get there?"

"At present speed, 2.5 days. Do you wish to increase speed?"

"Do we have any reason to?"

"Not that I can ascertain."

"Good. Then let's have a couple of quiet days, shall we?"

"Acceptable. Oh, and Captain," she added, "Lieutenant Reed wishes to recalibrate the aft sensors."

"Tell him to go ahead."

"Very well."

"If that's all, then I'm going to be in my quarters for a while."

"Is Commander Tucker --?"

"He's fine," Archer assured her. "Just don't want to leave him alone right now."

"Understood."

_I highly doubt that._ "You have the bridge, Subcommander."

"Acknowledged."

Subcommander T'Pol raised her brow as the communication was terminated. This was interesting, but not unexpected. Around her, the rest of the bridge crew busied themselves with their various tasks. If they had heard the Captain, they were keeping their reactions to themselves.

She became aware of a somewhat pressing need; she obviously had drunk too much tea at breakfast.

"Lieutenant," she said to Reed, "I will be in the ready room for a few minutes. You have the bridge."

Reed nodded, watched as she left. He then made his way to the centre seat, wondering, as usual, if he would ever prove worthy enough to earn one of his own, and sat.

At the helm, Ensign Mayweather turned, flashed a bright grin at him. Reed raised a brow.

"What did I tell you?" Mayweather said.

"You mean —"

"The Captain. Commander Tucker."

"I seem to remember a conversation along those lines," Reed said frostily.

"You're just mad because you lost. Pay up."

****

Trip blinked. How long had he slept? Felt like forever. And for the first time in forever, it felt that he had gotten some rest, too.

He was lying on his side, and the Captain was lying beside him, one arm wrapped protectively around him, while he held a padd in the other. Porthos was sprawled at the end of the bed.

Well, isn't this cozy. And it was true. He sighed, shifted slightly. Archer put the padd down.

"You're finally awake," the Captain said. "I thought you were going to sleep all day."

"What time is it?"

"Eleven hundred."

"That late? I really slept, then."

"You really did."

There was a comfortable silence for a moment, then Archer asked, "Ready for breakfast?"

"More like lunch."

"Split the difference."

"Brunch? Always thought that was kind of lah-dee-dah for a starship."

"I'm sure Chef will rise to the challenge. Think you could go for some Eggs Benedict?"

Trip thought about it. "You know," he said, surprised, "I think I could."

****

Trip whimpered in his sleep. "Sshh," Archer soothed him. It was early evening, and Trip was sleeping, while Archer was stretched out beside him, catching up on ship's reports.

When the Captain had diffidently suggested after supper that it might be more comfortable if they slept in his bed instead of Trip's, Trip had simply gotten up and walked (albeit somewhat unsteadily) to Archer's bed and climbed in.

_Well_ , Archer had thought, _that solves that_.

Trip tossed his head, awoke.

"Bad dreams again?"

"Yeah." The engineer sighed. "I'd hoped..." He trailed off. Archer put an arm around him, and Trip gratefully snuggled into the comforting embrace.

"It'll take some time," Archer assured him.

Trip nodded. "I know that. But, I still keep hoping they'll just go away."

"Want to talk about it?"

Trip smiled very faintly. "Not really. But I guess I should."

>   
> _Trip lay on the chaise lounge in the Mistress' garden, ostensibly enjoying the sun and fresh air. He was given to understand that this was a privilege, a treat given to a favoured pet by a kind mistress. Of course, no one had bothered to ask him if this was something he wanted._
> 
> _The truth was, even though the sun and fresh air was nice, he wasn't really enjoying this. He was all too aware of the attention he was receiving while out here. His nakedness proclaimed to the household at large that he was a pleasure slave, and there were those who were more than willing to risk the wrath of the Lord and Lady by attempting to sample him for themselves._
> 
> _So far, no one had done more than cop a quick feel, but he knew that sooner or later, some one was going to try more. Especially now that her Ladyship was planning to leave._
> 
> _Leave. That sparked a thought. He wondered. She would be going in two days, and be gone for several at the least. She wouldn't be taking him; apparently the holdings she would be inspecting were very small and there was only room for her maid and secretary._
> 
> _It was just as well; he was exhausted and could use a rest. Fortunately, the Lord had come home today, so Trip was going to get a reprieve of at least a week, maybe more._
> 
> _So with his services not required, and everyone else forbidden to touch him (in theory), that meant that he would be left alone for the most part. Maybe he could take advantage of that. He'd have to do some thinking, but it looked like he would have time to do that, too._
> 
> _"Hey! Blue!" My name's Trip, he thought angrily. He looked over. It was one of the household guards. One of the worst offenders in terms of the secret sneak touches._
> 
> _"Time's up," the man said. "Back to your room."_
> 
> _Trip rose, and walked over to where the man was standing, waiting. The guard's gaze travelled over him, and he licked his lips, but Trip ignored this._
> 
> _Instead, he walked past him. He could feel the skin between his shoulder blades prickling with apprehension, but he refused to give into it. If he were to show any fear, this man would take advantage of that, and he'd never have a moment's peace again._
> 
> _He felt the guard's hand on his back—low on his back. He stopped, turned, fixed him with a steady stare. The man in turn stepped away, raised both hands in an exaggerated gesture of apology. But the smirk he wore said otherwise._
> 
> _Trip continued to stare at him, until the guard dropped his eyes. "Get moving," he then said angrily._
> 
> _Trip turned and walked down the hall, came to his room. The guard tried to open his door, but Trip stopped him. "Don't be so proud," the man said. "You could use a friend."_
> 
> __Right, _Trip thought._ And next you'll tell me you have a real nice bridge you want to sell me. _He remained silent and entered his room, closing the door on his would-be "friend's" face, and locked it behind him. Not that the lock was of much use; there were those who had the master key. However, his buddy out there was not one of them, and he doubted Al-Saahn would hand over the key to the room of the Mistress' new pet to just anyone._
> 
> _He went to his bed, got in under the covers. This room seemed to be always cold, and he wouldn't be surprised if it was deliberately kept that way, in order to keep him in bed and quiet. Well, he could think in bed just as well as anywhere else._   
> 

"So you started thinking about trying to escape."

Tripped nodded. Archer stroked his back, and he sighed, closed his eyes.

"Feels good?"

"Nice."

"Can you tell me what happened?"

"Well, I guess you can figure out that my attempt didn't work."

"Yeah, I guessed that. But at least you tried."

"I did."

>   
> _Trip walked down the hall, with his would-be new friend following him. He'd had his allotted hour in the garden, and now he was being taken back to his room. The Lady was gone. And to his surprise, in her absence, Al-Saahn had installed a computer in his, Trip's, room. Apparently, he had "earned" it. If everything went well, he'd never get a chance to use it._
> 
> _He reached his room, opened the door. He turned, gave the guard a look that was very different from his usual disdainful stare. He walked into his room without closing the door behind him._
> 
> _As he had thought, that was all the encouragement the man needed. He followed Trip into his room, closed the door, and locked it._
> 
> _He then reached for Trip, who allowed himself to be pulled into a hot, fervid embrace. The man ground his face into Trip's neck, and his hands were running up and down his back. He then grabbed the engineer's ass, pulled him closer._
> 
> _"I knew you weren't as haughty as you put on," the man said, grinning into Trip's face._
> 
> _Trip smiled back. And then brought his knee up into the man's groin with brutal efficiency._
> 
> _The expression on the guard's face would have been comical under other circumstances._
> 
> _"Aahhh..." he said, his face turning white, and sank slowly to his knees._
> 
> _"Right," said Trip, and cold-cocked him. "Friend," he added._
> 
> _Quickly, he undressed the unconscious man, put on his uniform. It was a little loose, but still fitted fairly well. He pulled on the cap, and moving quickly, exited, closing the door behind him._
> 
> _He strode purposefully down the hall._ Look like you know where you're going _, he thought._
> 
> _He came to the garden door. He would go out in the garden, hide himself in the thickly wooded centre section, and wait for nightfall. He'd then make a break for the perimeter._
> 
> _He went out the door._
> 
> _And was felled by a hammer blow of pain._   
> 

"Your restraints."

"Yeah. I couldn't get them off. What I didn't know is that they were programmed to go off anytime I left the house. Only exception was when I was allowed out into the garden. I found out later that even then, I couldn't have gotten very far. They'd been set to go off if I went more than 100 feet from the house."

He looked at Archer. "Guess when you showed up, they turned them off altogether."

Archer smiled grimly. "They'd have been afraid not to."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Can I read some of those reports Malcolm and Hoshi made up about you? I have to admit, I'm kind of curious."

"Sure. You'll find out that, to quote Lieutenant Reed, I'm an 'arrogant bastard'."

Despite everything, Trip grinned. "No kidding."

Archer grinned back. "You bet. So behave yourself, Commander."

"I'll try." He yawned, then laid his head on Archer's chest. The Captain continued to stroke his back.

"Getting tired, Trip?"

"I am. Reliving it — it's kind of hard."

"I'm sure that there's no 'kind of' about it."

"Hmmm."

They lay in companionable silence for a few minutes, then Trip yawned again; a huge, jaw-cracking yawn. "Sorry," he said. "I'm not bored. Just tired."

"Go to sleep, Trip. Try and get some rest."

"Okay," the younger man murmured. By now, he was already half-asleep.

"And no bad dreams."

"Is that an order?"

"No. Just a wish."


	16. Sixteen

"What the—?" Archer stepped aside, as two crewmen exited his quarters, carrying Trip's bed. He felt a sudden sinking in his gut—was Trip leaving?

"Ah, Captain," said Phlox with his usual good cheer.

"Doctor—what's going on here?"

"I'm removing the Commander's bed," Phlox said, evidently surprised that he had to explain the obvious to the Captain.

"I can see that," Archer replied with exaggerated patience. "The question is—why?"

"Because it's no longer needed," Phlox said, beaming.

Archer strode into his quarters, steeling himself, expecting to see that Trip and all of his possessions were gone.

Instead, he found Trip curled up in his bed, Porthos at his feet. He turned and looked at Phlox.

"As I said," the doctor told him blandly. "It's obvious that the second bed is no longer necessary. And I can use it in Sickbay."

At this, Trip turned. "H'lo," he said sleepily.

"Hey, Trip," Archer said. "Have a good nap?"

"Haven't slept," Trip replied. "Too much racket."

"I apologize, Commander," Phlox said. "We're finished now. We won't disturb you any further."

"Try and get some sleep, Trip."

"'Kay." And he turned, curled up again.

Archer gestured to Phlox, led him to the end of the room, away from Trip. Speaking in a low voice, he asked, "Are you sure about this?"

"Why, Captain? Aren't you?"

Archer did not answer.

"Personally, I am delighted," the doctor continued. "You've obviously made great strides."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Archer asked, his voice rising.

Phlox made a "shushing" noise, indicating Trip.

"Sorry," Archer said in a quieter voice.

"I merely meant that you have earned back the Commander's trust."

Archer was silent.

"You find this situation an odd one, don't you, Captain?"

"You said a mouthful."

"If you wish some advice—I suggest that you accept reality and move on from there."

"And you think you know what reality is, do you?"

"Oh, yes," Phlox said, smiling his peculiar smile. "I'm sure I do." And his bright blue eyes twinkled at the Captain.

****

Trip shifted uneasily, moaned in his sleep. Archer turned off the game, went over to their bed. "Trip," he said. "It's just a dream. Whatever it is, it's just a dream."

Trip still cried out. Archer sighed. Obviously, words alone weren't enough.

He lay down beside the younger man, put his arms around him. He could feel Trip shivering in his sleep. "It's only me, Trip. You know you're safe with me."

Trip sighed, but did not stop trembling. It must be a bad one, Archer thought. He realized that they were coming closer to whatever it was that continued to fuel Trip's trauma. The engineer had been able to talk about much of what had happened to him, and God knew that had been bad enough, but there was something else; something that continued to haunt him both waking and sleeping.

Trip started, cried out and awoke. He gasped, looked around, drew a trembling hand down his face.

He looked miserably at Archer. "Aren't you tired of this yet? I know I sure as hell am."

"You can't help it," Archer replied. "You're not doing it deliberately." He waited a moment, then added, "Are you?"

Trip smiled very faintly. "Looking for attention? No."

"Tell me about it."

Trip was silent for several minutes. Then, finally, almost inaudibly, he asked, "Is that an order?"

He looked at Archer. The Captain stared into those blue eyes for a long moment, then firmly replied, "It is, Commander."

Trip shivered again, closed his eyes. Then, taking a deep breath, he opened them, looked at the Captain. When he spoke, his voice was firm and clear.

"Yes, sir."

> _Trip lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. He was exhausted; exhausted by the hours of pain he'd suffered. When he had been discovered lying in the garden, he'd been carried back to his room, stripped and dumped on the bed. His punishment devices had not been deactivated. He'd fainted several times and been revived. Finally, a little while ago, the pain had stopped. He doubted that was going to be the end of it, though._
> 
> _As if summoned by his thoughts, the door unlocked, opened, and Al-Saahn stepped through. He stood at the bed, and gazed at Trip with those hooded eyes of his._
> 
> _Trip stared back at him._
> 
> _"Why? Have you not been treated well here?"_
> 
> _"I don't belong here," Trip told him._
> 
> _"But you are here. And here you will stay. Oh," and the House Master shook his head, "His Lordship is angry enough that if it were strictly up to him, he would sell you to the lowest bordello he could find. But his Lady would be most upset; you are her property, after all. And apparently, you have pleased her greatly. You will remain in your present capacity."_
> 
> _Trip was silent._
> 
> _"However, you will not escape punishment."_
> 
> _He remained silent._
> 
> _"Pain is of limited value when dealing with one such as you. And we cannot do anything to mar you; her Ladyship would not permit it. So I have been forced to be creative."_
> 
> _And with that, he left._

"And he didn't' say anything?"

"No."

"He wanted you to worry about it."

"Pretty much."

"Clever bastard."

"No kidding."

There was a moment's silence. Archer could feel Trip lying, tensed. "Surely that's not all you have to tell me, Commander."

Trip swallowed, hard. "No, sir."

> _A few hours later, his door opened again, and once again, Al-Saahn entered, followed by three guards._
> 
> _"On your feet," the House Master ordered._
> 
> _Evidently, he was too slow in responding, for the guards yanked him upright. The third splashed the stimulant oil on him._
> 
> _He was then marched, not to her Ladyship's chambers, but into a room he'd never seen before._

"The 'Entertainment Room'," Archer said.

Trip nodded.

> _There was a round, raised stage in its centre A square frame stood on this. Trip was hustled over to it, and bound to the frame, arms stretched over his head, feet spread apart. He was effectively immobilized._
> 
> _And they left him there._

Archer could feel him tremble. "I don't know how long I stood there," Trip said. "Seemed like forever. And then, the audience arrived."

> _He watched as the room filled. It seemed that every servant in the house, from the kitchen staff to the administrators, was present. He saw curiosity on some faces, a careful, cautious compassion on others, but for the most part, the general atmosphere was a festive one._
> 
> _Al-Saahn entered, followed by a retinue of the Lord's Household Guards._
> 
> _"This slave," he announced, indicating Trip, "has scorned both the good treatment and generosity of the Lord and Lady Volasha. Such ingratitude must be paid for. The usual penalty would be death. However, you are here to witness the justice—and mercy—of the House of Volasha." He nodded. "Begin."_
> 
> _One of the guards ascended to the stage. It was the man Trip had knocked out, whose uniform he'd stolen. The man gave him a bright, hard, glittering smile. "I've been waiting for this," he told Trip._
> 
> _Trip felt the splash of lube oil, and then, without warning, he was taken savagely from behind. He cried out, and the response was laughter and applause from most of the audience._
> 
> _He closed his eyes, enduring the pain. And then, one detestable hand crept round him, found his member, began to manipulate it. Trip clenched his jaw. He now understood the reason for the application of the damned oil. He became aroused almost instantly, and there was more laughter and applause at that._
> 
> _The guard pounded into him, and his hand stroked him, harder, faster. There was no finesse this time, no teasing. Just brute need. The guard stiffened, moaned, then cried out triumphantly as he climaxed into Trip. He kept at him, and a moment later, Trip himself had a hated, unwelcome climax. The audience cheered at this. Slowly, the guard withdrew. "Lovely," he whispered in Trip's ear._

Trip was trembling violently by now.

"Let me tell the rest of it," Archer said.

"Captain?"

"The first guard—that was just the beginning, right?" At Trip's nod, he continued. "They gang-raped you, didn't they?"

Another nod.

"The Lord's troops."

"Right." It was barely more than a whimper.

"But it wasn't enough to gang-rape you, was it?" Archer shook his head, answered his own question. "No. You'd be able to tell yourself you were raped; that you couldn't help it, that you were defenseless. And they couldn't have that, could they? It wouldn't do, would it?"

Trip was weeping now, but Archer pressed on, difficult as it was. He was determined to dig up this thing that was festering in his friend's soul; he was going to dig it up, pull it out by the roots, smash it, burn it, destroy it, before its poison could do Trip any more harm.

"So they played with you, too. Stimulated you. Made you come. Use any special devices?"

Trip was sobbing but still coherent. "Some of 'em wore special gloves. Rough leather. Or with little studs."

"So it was more intense," Archer said calmly, although he was raging inside.

"So you screamed. And the only thing you knew was what they were doing to you. And they kept at you all night long. After the audience went to bed, they still kept at you. And you came and came and came until you couldn't take it anymore."

"I passed out," Trip gasped between sobs. "They woke me up."

"And made you go through it all again. Until, finally, you collapsed."

Trip couldn't answer, he wept into Archer's embrace. The Captain was, however, pitiless. "Isn't that right, Commander?"

"I couldn't take it anymore," Trip sobbed. "I begged them to stop. Said I'd never try anything again. Ever."

"And when you said that, they stopped. Finally."

"They won." Trip was practically wailing. "Don't you see? They beat me down. They won!"

"Jesus Christ, Trip!" Archer said sharply. Startled, the engineer looked up at this. "You're only human, goddammit! We've all got our breaking point. Hell, even the Vulcans do. And let me tell you, they had to damn near kill you to get you to yours. How long did you spend recuperating?"

"I don't know," Trip moaned. "Long time. I remember a doctor—and I guess a nurse. I was doped up most of the time. But at least a week."

"A week spent recovering. What does that tell you about what they did to you, Trip? Anyone would have broken at that. I know I would have."

Trip gaped at him, but Archer continued. "So you're not superman. Big surprise. But let me tell you this—I said it before, and I'll say it again—you're one brave son of a bitch. And I'm proud to know you."

Trip was now weeping too hard to answer. Archer stroked Trip's hair, rubbed his back gently. But he didn't try to quiet him; he simply let him cry. Get it out of him. The worst of it was now known. Trip would still have a ways to go, but at last he'd gotten the horror at the heart of his ordeal out into the open.

Finally, Trip wept himself into exhaustion. He looked up at Archer with eyes that were so red and swollen, it was a wonder he could see out of them. He opened his mouth to speak, but Archer beat him to it. "Don't you dare! Don't you dare tell me you're sorry, Charles Tucker III!"

Trip looked stunned. Archer went on. "You've got nothing to be sorry for. Or ashamed of. Do you understand? And if I ever hear that from you about this again, I'm gonna knock you on your ass and pound some sense into that thick skull of yours. You hear me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I actually think that it might have finally sunk in."

Trip shivered. Archer drew him close. And now, he started to comfort him.

"It's all right. You got the worst of it out."

But Trip continued to shiver, and nothing Archer could do or say would make him stop. The Captain made a decision. He started to move away, and Trip whimpered. "It's okay," Archer said. He leaned down, kissed Trip gently on the forehead. "I'll be right back."

He went to his desk, made a quick call, and then to the bathroom, and returned with a cold wet facecloth.

"Here," he said.

Slowly, Trip took the cloth. "I'm a mess," he whispered.

"A wet mess," Archer corrected. Trip managed a weak smile, and wiped his face.

Archer took the cloth, deposited it on the book shelf above the bed, then lay back down beside the engineer. "Come here," he said. Trip obeyed, laying his head on Archer's chest. Archer put his arms around him, and Trip reciprocated, laying an arm across the Captain's waist. He sighed.

The door buzzed, and Trip started. Archer stroked his back. "It's all right," he repeated. "Come," he called.

Dr. Phlox entered. If he was surprised to find the Captain in bed with his arms around the Chief Engineer, his round, cheery face did not show it.

Trip looked up, but Archer did not release him from his embrace. "Doctor," the Captain said.

"Captain. Commander. No need to ask why you've called me here."

He crossed over and stood by the bed.

"Trip's had a rough evening," Archer said.

"I can see that," Phlox replied. "I think a tranquilizer is in order here. With your permission, of course, Commander."

Archer gave Trip a gentle squeeze. "Calm you down. Help you to sleep."

"And an analgesic, too, hmm?" Phlox added. "I'm sure you have a headache as well, yes?"

"You could say that," Trip whispered. "Or you could say it feels like the top of my head is gonna blow off."

Archer smiled. Same old Trip. It was good to know that despite all the pain, his old friend was still there, underneath it all.

But all he said was, "Shut up and let the doctor work."


	17. Seventeen

He was at peace. It was deep, dark and warm where he was, and he wanted to stay there. In the dark. In the silence. But he was being pulled relentlessly away from the darkness into light. And instead of silence, there were now faint sounds. He became aware that he was no longer floating, weightless in warmth, but that he had a body; one that was stiff and sore. His head ached, too.

And with this realization, Trip awoke. Memory returned; he was in their quarters; lying curled on their bed. And last night...He pushed that away from himself. He did not want to remember what he had told the Captain. To remember what he said would be to remember the nightmare itself.

He opened his eyes, winced as the light hit them. He tried to lift his head off the pillow, and a bolt of pain lanced through it, leaving a dull throbbing ache in its wake. Despite himself, he groaned.

He heard a faint rustle and managed to look across the room. The Captain was on the couch. He had been reading, but he had put his book down and was walking over to their bed. Trip closed his eyes again. It was easier that way. The light hurt his eyes. And he would not have to look the Captain in the eye. He was not sure he could. The memories of what had happened to him, raw and painful, tried to rush over him again, and he shivered slightly.

He felt the bed settle as Archer sat beside him. "Trip?"

"Captain."

"What's wrong?"

"My head. It's aching something fierce."

"I'm not surprised. You had a pretty rough night."

Trip was silent. This was true enough, but what could he say? Archer gently rubbed his back for a moment. Then, "Phlox left some analgesic. He figured you'd need more. I'll get it for you, okay?"

"Okay."

Trip resolutely kept his eyes closed throughout their conversation. After his emotional meltdown last night, he was frankly afraid to face the Captain. What did Archer think of him? And reliving the agony had left his emotions all in a jumble. He found that he was simultaneously relieved and worried; cleansed and ashamed; confident and fearful.

He felt Archer's gentle hand on his back. "Trip."

Slowly, he opened his eyes, winced again as the light intensified the pain in his head. "Damn!"

"Keep your eyes closed, Trip," the Captain said. "The light just make the headache worse, doesn't it?"

He nodded, closed them again. He heard the hiss of the hypospray against his neck, and almost immediately, his pain started to ebb away. The mattress settled again as the Captain sat down beside him. "I'll keep you company for a little while." And he could feel Archer's gentle touch as he stroked his back.

"You don't have to," he whispered.

"Oh, I don't agree," was the light response. "After last night, I think you need the company. Even if you don't want it."

"I didn't mean --"

"Trip," the Captain said. "You're probably feeling pretty confused right now. Embarrassed as well, maybe. But you have no reason to. None of it was your fault. They put you through hell. I don't know how you survived. And telling me about it? Must have been more difficult than I can even begin to guess. I wasn't lying when I said you're one brave son of a bitch. And I don't have any less respect for you because of what happened on Tasumi. Or here last night. As a matter of fact, I probably have more."

Trip opened his eyes in surprise. He looked up, saw Archer's calm regard upon him, and fidgeted slightly. "Really? Because I have to tell you, Captain — I don't feel very respectable. In fact, just the opposite."

The memory of all those loathsome hands, the unwelcome touches, the vile penetrations came rushing back over him, and he could have cried aloud in frustration. Those memories were always there, always lurking under the surface, always waiting to seize him again. Would there ever be a day, an hour, a moment when he would be free of them?

Archer smiled very slightly, then sobered. "Trip. You were raped. Brutally. It wasn't your fault, and you have nothing to be ashamed of."

Trip sighed. "Aren't you tired of saying that?"

Archer smoothed his hair back, then stroked his back again. "Why should I? It's the truth, isn't it?"

Trip sighed again. "You're awfully stubborn, you know."

****

"Feeling better?"

Trip looked around. "Did I fall asleep again?"

"Did you ever. You slept all afternoon and the whole night through. You must have been exhausted."

Trip exhaled. "Guess so."

Slowly he sat up, ran a hand through his hair, grimacing at its greasy feel. He hadn't had a shower in a couple of days. "I'll bet I stink to high heaven, too."

"You are a bit fragrant," Archer observed.

"You didn't have to agree," Trip said, aggrieved. He stood, and slowly made his way to the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, he emerged, wearing clean pyjamas and towelling his hair dry. Archer looked up. He was a sitting on a chair near the bathroom entrance. Keeping watch, Trip thought.

"Well, you smell better," the Captain said. "Feel better?"

"A little, I guess."

"You don't sound all that convinced."

Trip managed a faint smile. "Guess I'm not."

He swayed slightly, and Archer stood, placed a supportive hand underneath his elbow. "Come on. I'll bet your blood sugar is in the minus range. Let's put you back to bed and get some breakfast into you."

He guided Trip back to their bed. The engineer noted that the Captain had managed to change the sheets while he had been in the shower. He sank down with a grateful sigh, and Archer pulled clean blankets up over him.

"What do you want for breakfast?"

"I'm not really hungry."

Archer did not push it. Instead, he asked, "Think you could at least get a protein shake into you?"

Trip thought about it. "Guess so."

Archer went over to the fridge, while Porthos, with the air of someone who knows he is welcome, leaped onto the bed, wagged his tail briefly in greeting, and then turned his attention to the serious business of making a comfortable sleeping spot.

Trip smiled slightly at this. He looked up as Archer approached, glass in hand, handed it to him.

Trip took the milkshake, considered it, but did not drink. Archer sat on the bedside, and affectionately rubbed Porthos' ears.

"Trip? Something wrong?"

Trip shook his head, looked up at Archer. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

Trip did not answer directly. Instead, he said, "You know, when they brought me into the room to meet you, and I heard your voice, I thought I was dreaming. Again."

"Again?"

He nodded. "After. After my — my punishment, I found myself just...drifting. I just let my mind go. It was like I was watching everything happen to someone else. Seemed easier, somehow."

Archer nodded. "It's a pretty common reaction, Trip."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Phlox told me. He called it a 'coping mechanism'."

"Oh. Anyhow. And I slept a lot, too. Had some weird dreams."

"So you thought it was a dream?"

"Sure did. I mean, it was your voice I heard, your face I saw. But you weren't dressed right. And you weren't acting like yourself. So I thought I was either dreaming again, or I was drifting. Changing reality."

"I guess being kissed didn't help, " Archer said, keeping his voice light.

Trip knew that it wasn't just the kiss the Captain was referring to. "Well," he said, quite seriously, "it wasn't bad. But not your usual style, you have to admit."

Archer smiled. Trip looked at him. "Do you know when I started to realize it wasn't a dream. When it was real?"

Archer shook his head. "When?"

"When you started to feed me. And it really hit home when you gave me that big slice of cake and made me drink their milk. That was the Jonathan Archer I knew."

Archer grinned. "Still is. Drink your shake."

Trip sighed, rolled his eyes, but finished his shake.

"Now lay back down," the Captain ordered. "Get some rest."

Trip obeyed. "I wish I could feel better," he said wistfully. "I'm really sick and tired of being sick and tired."

"I'm sure you are," Archer said sympathetically. "But you know what Phlox said."

"I know. Two steps forward, one step back. And all the rest of it. I just wish I was actually taking those steps forward."

"You are," Archer told him. "It just seems like you're not." He stood. "I have to get to the bridge. Phlox will probably drop by in a while. But you try and sleep, okay, Trip?"

"Okay." He closed his eyes.

Archer bent down, kissed his forehead. "See you later."


	18. Eighteen

Trip blinked, yawned and looked around. He'd fallen asleep. Again. It seemed that he had done nothing but sleep for the last 10 days. Both Phlox and Archer kept telling him that it was perfectly all right, that it was natural after what he had been through, that it was nothing to worry about. Easy for them to say, he thought tiredly.

Knowing that they were both right was of no help; he wanted to get past all of this. But the memories kept reaching out to him, grabbing at him with their cold, cruel fingers, dragging him backward into fear and despair.

Slowly he sat up, looked around. "Doc?"

Dr. Phlox started guiltily at this. _He looks like he was caught with his hand in the cookie jar_ , Trip thought.

"Ah, Commander." The doctor's voice was practically a squeak, and his guilty look deepened.

Trip stared. What the hell? "Doc? What's wrong?"

"Wrong? Nothing, Commander, nothing at all. I simply thought you would sleep longer, that's all."

_You're lying_ , Trip thought with sudden certainty. He swung his legs over the bed. "Why don't I believe you?"

Phlox actually fidgeted. He shot an anxious glance at the Captain's desk, where Archer's personal computer was still on. The doctor's look told Trip more plainly than any words that whatever this was all about, the answer was on that screen, and that Phlox would do his best to keep Trip from finding out.

He stood, and moving as fast as his outraged legs would permit, stumbled over to Archer's desk. Phlox also tried to get there, but he was too late.

Trip read the screen, and then swung on Phlox, he expression one of mingled horror and fury. "Is this a joke?" Phlox shook his head. "Goddamn it!" He turned.

"Commander -"

Trip turned back. "I'm going to sort this out right now! Don't you try and stop me!"

"I have no intention of stopping you," Phlox replied. "But," and he gestured.

Trip looked down, saw his rumpled pyjamas "Right," he said grimly, and headed for his closet.

****

Captain Archer was seated before his computer in his ready room, his expression grim. Looking equally forbidding, Admiral Forrest and Ambassador Soval were staring out at him from the viewscreen. Her face carefully neutral, Subcommander T'Pol was standing behind the Captain.

"I'm sorry, Jon," Forrest was saying. "But considering the contents of this report, this is something we can't ignore. I'm afraid that—"

At this, the door opened, and a small hurricane, similar to those that come in off the Florida Keys, but in the form of an extremely angry Commander Tucker, blew into the room. He was followed, more sedately, by Dr. Phlox.

"Just what in hell is going on here?" Trip demanded, loudly and furiously.

"Commander Tucker, please," Forrest said. "You don't have to become involved in this."

"Really? Seems to me like I'm already involved."

"Trip —" Archer began.

At this, the engineer whirled on the Captain, blue eyes flashing fire, and pointed an angry finger at Archer. "You just shut up!"

Archer gaped. He had never seen Trip quite like this before.

Ambassador Soval arched a disapproving brow. "Is this typical of discipline aboard _Enterprise_?"

Trip turned back to him. "That goes for you, too!"

He leaned on the desk, breathing heavily. "Now would someone care to explain to me just what the hell you think you're doing here?"

Forrest looked pained. "Commander. We really don't wish to cause you any further distress. So if you would just -- "

"— I'm already pretty good and goddamned distressed right now," was the retort. "What I want to know is where you get off sticking your noses in my private business!"

"I can understand why you might be averse to publicity, Commander," Forrest replied. "And you have my assurances that we will do our best to keep a low profile on this. But considering the report we've received from the Vulcan Security Directorate —"

"— Which is bullshit!"

"Commander," said Forrest warningly, "I've given you a fair amount of latitude, considering your condition and everything you've been through. But I have to tell you —"

"No, you don't get it, Admiral! With all due respect, I'm telling you! That Vulcan operative doesn't know his ass from his elbow!"

"Really?" Soval asked coolly.

"Really! And the proof is this damned report!" He slammed a fist onto the desk top. "That he would accuse Jonathan Archer of something like that? And you're planning to charge him, based on that report? That's nuts!"

"Are you saying the report is incorrect, Commander?"

"You're damned right I am."

"Then," Soval enquired, "you are denying that you were raped while on Tasumi?"

"Of course I'm not, you idiot," was the crisp response. "I was raped more times than I can care to count." At this, Forrest winced, and even Soval looked pained in a restrained, Vulcan fashion. "But not by Captain Archer!"

"Commander —" Forrest began.

"I'm telling you! Jonathan Archer did not rape me!"

"Are you denying the report? The operative stated he saw you and the Captain engage in," and Soval coughed slightly, "sexual activity, including intercourse."

"No, I'm not denying the report as far as that goes. But having sex and rape are two different things. And I wasn't raped by the Captain." He looked at Soval. "Don't those operatives of yours tell you anything useful? Don't they tell you how they do things down on Tasumi? They're just a bit more open about stuff down there. Let me tell you, 'after dinner entertainment' takes on a whole new meaning, if you get my drift." He smiled at Soval. "I can give you details, if you like. Explicit details."

Soval glared at him. "That will not be necessary." He turned to Forrest. "Obviously, he's protecting the Captain."

"Now where's the logic in that?" Trip demanded. "Why the hell would I protect my rapist? Wouldn't I want to send him to the clink instead?"

"You are telling us that you willingly engaged in sexual activity with Captain Archer."

"Yes, I'm saying that."

"That it was consensual."

"Yep. I guess when your operative got his ears bobbed, he lost some of his hearing. I told the Captain to go right ahead. Whole room heard it."

"You weren't under duress?"

"I was under duress all right, but not from the Captain, if that's what you mean."

"Why would you do that?" Soval demanded. "Engage in such behaviour?"

"Why shouldn't I have sex with my lover?"

Stunned silence met this response. Both Forrest and Soval looked pole-axed. Archer's mouth fell open, and he shut it with a snap. T'Pol looked down at the floor. Only Phlox was unaffected; he beamed at the rest of the room, blue eyes twinkling, as if Trip was a star pupil who had just successfully demonstrated a difficult theorem.

"It was a little more public than is usually to my taste," Trip added meditatively, "but you know what they say: When in Rome — or Tasumi — as the case may be..."

He straightened up, surveyed Forrest and Soval. "So?"

"I don't believe it!" Soval said in a strangled voice.

"You know, you're awful emotional for a Vulcan," Trip told him conversationally. "But it's true. Hell, the Captain and I have been living together in the same quarters for quite a while now. Even sharing the same bed."

"Is that true?"

"It is," T'Pol replied calmly. "I can verify that the Commander moved in with the Captain some time ago."

"And I," said Phlox stepping forward, "have been treating the Commander since his return from Tasumi. There is only one bed in their quarters, and I know neither of them sleeps on the floor or the couch."

"Well, if that is indeed the case —" Forrest began.

"You don't accept this obvious attempt to—"

Trip leaned forward again. "Obvious attempt?" He asked softly. "Tell me, Ambassador—are you calling me a liar?" His voice was even, but Soval flinched very slightly.

"Of course not," Forrest assured him. "No one is doubting your word, Commander."

"Then I assume that's the last we're going to hear of this nonsense?" Trip demanded.

"Of course not. Your personal relationship is of course, your own business. You are both close enough in rank to allow it to continue shipboard. Although the activities described on Tasumi are ... unusual, since you say it was consensual ... Naturally, no charges will be pending ," Forrest replied.

"Good." Trip swayed very slightly, and Phlox bustled forward at this.

"The Commander is still not well," the doctor said severely. "Are we finished here?"

"I believe so, Doctor," Forrest said.

"Good. Then the Commander is going back to bed," Phlox said, "now."

He took Trip by the arm, and the engineer submitted meekly to being led out of the room. But when Trip got to the door, he turned, and fixed Archer with a steady stare. "You ever keep something like this from me again," he told the Captain, "and there's gonna be hell to pay."

***

Trip blinked, sighed. _These damned sedatives. Hammered you into unconsciousness._ He'd protested, but Phlox had been unyielding. "You've had quite enough excitement for one day, Commander." And bang! That was it. The last thing he remembered was the now all-too familiar hiss of the hypospray, and he had been out like a light.

He heard a rustle, looked beside him. Archer was stretched out beside him, reading. Aware that Trip had awoken, he put his book down and gave the engineer a long, measuring look.

"Well," the Captain said, "now you've done it."

Trip yawned, stretched. "Yep."

"Really put your foot in it."

"The fat's in the fire now for sure," Trip agreed.

"And speaking like that to Ambassador Soval."

"I know. I don't know what it is about that guy, but I always have this uncontrollable urge to lip off to him."

"No kidding," Archer said dryly. "Lucky you're on sick leave. Otherwise Forrest would have probably busted your ass. Just on general principles."

"Lucky that," Trip said blandly.

"And lying to the Admiral. Really, Trip."

Trip gave him a long look. "I wasn't lying." He added, significantly, "Jon."

Archer looked back at him, astonishment write large all over his face. "What?"

"You heard me. I wasn't lying."

"You led Forrest to believe that you and I —"

"— Well, aren't we?"

Archer was silent.

"I don't know about you," Trip continued, "but I sure have come to realize something over the past little while. Haven't you?"

For the first time in all the years he'd known him, Archer was at a loss for words. "Well?" Trip repeated. "Haven't you?"

He turned on his side, so that his face was only inches away from Archer's. "Or am I wrong about all of this? I don't think so, but if I am, let me know."

"No," Archer finally said quietly. "You're not wrong. But, Trip — are you sure?"

"Why? Aren't you?"

"I'm sure."

"Well," Trip replied, "So am I. So there we are."

"Looks that way," Archer agreed.

"Mind you," Trip said thoughtfully, "You're not who I would have thought I'd end up with."

"You're not the only one."

Trip smiled slightly. "I've never thought I was gay. But," and he shrugged.

"I don't think you are," Archer told him. "I don't think I am, either. Not really."

Trip arched a brow at him. "Oh, really? Then how'd we end up like this, pray tell?"

Archer smiled. "It's not the outside body that's the main factor here. It's who's inside. The fact that you happen to be a man is, well, secondary to the fact that it's you. Trip Tucker. That's who I want to be with."

Trip nodded. "Right. I get you." He looked at Archer impudently. "Still, it would have been one hell of a lot easier if one of us had been born a woman. Jane Archer, maybe?"

"Or Charlene Tucker?" Archer smiled, shook his head. "Life isn't about what's easy, Trip. It's about what is."

"'It's about what is'," Trip quoted. "The wit and wisdom of Jonathan Archer."

"You like?"

"Don't quit your day job, that's all I can say."

Archer laughed, put his arms around him. "Thanks for the advice. What would I do without you?"

Trip smiled in return, then sobered. "There's just one thing," he said hesitantly.

"What is it?"

"Well, I mean..." He floundered about, trying to find the right words. "After everything that happened to me on Tasumi... I mean, I'll try, I really will. But I don't know... "

"Don't," Archer interrupted. "Don't worry about it."

"It's just that --"

"Trip," said Archer very seriously. "I can wait. Really. Until you're ready. I'm going to let you make the first move."

"Cap — Jon," Trip said worriedly. "I can't give you any guarantees. I mean, it may take me a long time, you know."

"I know. And I can wait. For however long it takes you."

"Are you sure?"

"Let me tell you something," Archer said, drawing him even closer. "Something my father told me." He stroked Trip's back. "I didn't understand what he meant at the time. In fact, I thought he was full of it. But now I do understand. And he was right."

"About what?"

"He told me that sex is like dessert. It's nice, tasty, sweet and lots of fun. But he said you don't need dessert. Especially if you've had a good dinner. And a strong, loving relationship is that good dinner. If you want dessert — great. If not, well, you've still had that dinner. And the other thing he said was that living on desserts alone was a bad idea."

He smiled. "Mind you, I was a horny 16-year old when he told me that, and I thought he was out of his mind. Now — I understand."

Trip nodded. "I do, too." He looked at Archer, smiled slightly. "I used to have a hell of a sweet tooth, though. I wouldn't mind getting it back."

Archer laughed, kissed him on the forehead. "Just the fact that you said that shows how far you've come."

Trip slipped his arms around him, settled into a comfortable embrace. "Still, this is nice, too."

"It is indeed."

He looked at Archer, who bent his head slightly and gave the younger man a soft, gentle kiss.

Trip sighed, snuggled closer. "Well," he told the Captain, "now you've done it."

"Yep."


	19. Chapter 19

When Archer came off duty, he was surprised to find their quarters empty. He frowned slightly, and looked around.

The past three months had seen changes. What had once been Trip's area had been transformed, by mutual consent, into working space for both the Captain and the Chief Engineer. Trip's personal possessions had also migrated; his books and Archer's shared the same shelf space; and his pictures hung next to Archer's.

Some of Trip's sense of humour had returned; for instance, Zefram Cochrane pointed to the stars, unaware that Frankenstein's monster was lurching up behind him, and the Captain's compass now resided within Trip's old diving helmet. Archer had rolled his eyes and hid his smile, happy that Trip was up to playing these pranks. And, after all, you couldn't be serious all the time.

The Captain looked over at their bed. The patchwork quilt that Trip's grandmother had given him was stretched neatly across, its bright colours adding warmth and a touch of home to the rather austere and utilitarian design of ship's quarters.

All of Trip's possessions were here, but where was their owner? Porthos trotted forward, gave a small bark in greeting. "Hey," Archer said, fondly rubbing the beagle's ears. "Where's Trip?" Porthos, of course, had no answer to that.

He saw a light blinking on his computer screen, and walked over, reading the message waiting there. His face cleared. Of course. He should have expected this.

Twenty minutes later, he was in his civvies, stretched out on the couch, catching up on the news digest Hoshi had prepared for him. The door opened, and Trip came in. Archer looked up. "Hey."

"Hey yourself," was the reply.

Three months worth of Phlox's therapy, exercise and nutrition regimes, along with what could only be called outrageous pampering and coddling from the Captain had done a great deal for the engineer. He was finally starting to regain the weight he had lost, and his face no longer had that pinched, hollow, haunted look. Although he was still troubled by nightmares and tired easily, he was making good progress.

"I thought your shift ended an hour ago," Archer said. Phlox had authorized light duty for Trip; he was to work four hours a day (in a supervisory capacity only) to start. This was the first week.

"Yeah, it did,” Trip said, heading to the bathroom, undoing his uniform. Engineering tended to get hot and the work could be dirty, so Trip generally preferred to shower after his shift was over, as opposed to first thing in the morning.

"And?" Archer asked.

"And Phlox insisted that I stop by Sickbay."

"And? What did he say?"

Trip sighed, half turned to Archer. "And he gave me six different kinds of hell. I tried to tell him that even supervising in Engineering is more hands-on than anywhere else on-board, but he wasn't buying it."

"And?"

"And," Trip continued irritably, "He said that since I (a) worked and (b) worked more hours than the allotted time this week, I have to take tomorrow off."

"And?"

Trip sighed. "And I have to take it easy."

"And?"

"And he wants me to rest."

"And?"

"Bed rest, dammit." He glared at Archer. "Why ask if you already know?"

"Because I want to make sure you know what Phlox told you."

"Can't you talk to him? I mean, he's —"

"Right," Archer finished. "Four hours a day, Trip. Not five, not six and certainly not eight."

"I couldn't just walk away from the middle of that job," Trip said, restating what he had said the previous evening.

"I'm not having this argument again," Archer replied firmly. "Plus, you were only supposed to supervise, Trip. Not climb into the access hatch and do the work yourself."

"But —"

"I don't want to hear it. The doctor's orders stand."

"You're no damn help at all," Trip said in disgust, and stomped off to the shower.

Archer carefully hid a smile; the fact that Trip was feeling well enough to complain made him extremely happy. Even though Trip had broken the rules set out very badly, he was pleased by that fact too. Although it would not do for Archer to encourage him too much.

Trip emerged a little while later, clad in his pyjamas and headed for his computer. Archer stood, and crossed over to where he was sitting. "What's up?"

"Engineering reports," was the reply. "Got quite a backlog to get through, and — hey!" Archer had reached over, turned the view screen off. "I was reading that!"

"You can look at them tomorrow," was the response. "While you're resting. Come on." Archer took Trip by the hand, led him to the couch. "Tonight, you're watching a movie — with me."

And he sat, pulled Trip down to him, then laid back so that both he and Trip were laying on the couch, Trip resting against him. Trip had become comfortable with casual contact and they often spent evenings like this. Lately, there had even been a few necking sessions; not overly long or heated but enjoyable nonetheless. As Archer had promised, they were taking it slow, and only as far as Trip felt he was able to go.

"You're one bossy son of a bitch," Trip said with mock annoyance. "You know that, don't you?"

"Yep."

"Good. Just so we're clear." And he settled comfortably into Archer's embrace. "Still — what if I don't want to watch this movie?"

Archer could feel the younger man lying relaxed against him, and knew he wasn't serious. Nevertheless, he replied solemnly, "Have I ever made you do something you didn't want to?"

Trip grinned. "Where do I start?"

"I meant off-duty, you brat."

"A brat? You're calling me a brat?"

"Oh, so sorry. I didn't mean to say that. What I meant to say is that you're a _spoiled_ brat."

"You been talking to my sister again?"

Archer laughed, gave him a hug. Then he added, very seriously, "I would never force you to do something you didn't want. You know that, right?"

"Sure I do. But that still doesn't change the fact that you're one bossy bastard."

"Son of a bitch or bastard? Make up your mind, friend."

"The operative word in both phrases is 'bossy'. In case you didn't notice."

"Shut up and watch the movie."

***** 

"Wow," Trip said appreciatively. "Do they even make women like that outside of Hollywood?"

"She's probably not even real. Computer-generated."

"Still. Wow." He was silent for a moment. Then, "Wouldn't you like a blonde like that?"

Archer shrugged. "Not really," he said. "I'm happy with the blond I've already got."

Trip turned in his embrace to look at him. "Really?"

"Really."

Trip turned back, and watched the rest of the movie in a thoughtful silence. He maintained that silence while getting ready for bed, and Archer simply let him be. He knew by now that when Trip was ready to talk about whatever it was he was contemplating, he would. In great detail.

He crawled into bed beside the younger man, and smiled slightly as Trip yawned hugely. "Tired?"

"Yeah. Hate to admit it, but I am."

He turned, snuggled up to Archer, and was immediately asleep.

***** 

Trip stood, toothbrush in hand. "Are you kidding me?"

"Nope."

"But I'm already up!"

"So you shaved and brushed your teeth and washed your face. Good. You'll be nice and clean. In bed."

"But—"

"Phlox wasn't joking yesterday and neither am I now. The doctor ordered bed rest, and that's what it's going to be."

Trip groaned. "You remember what I called you last night?"

"A bossy son of a bitch? Yeah. Why?"

"Just checking," he grumbled in response.

"Bed. Now."

Suppressing another groan, Trip climbed back into bed. "You happy now?"

"Delirious. And I expect you to stay there."

Trip muttered something. Archer was sure it wasn't "Happy Birthday." He tossed him a padd. "Your engineering reports. Read them. Behave yourself."

Trip muttered something else, and this time Archer was positive it wasn't "Happy Birthday." He raised a brow. "What's that, Commander?"

"Nothing."

"I beg your pardon?"

Trip sighed. "I said, 'yes, sir'."

*****

When Archer came back off-shift, he found Trip sprawled, deeply asleep, across their bed, Porthos at his feet. The Captain smiled. Looks like Phlox was right. Again.

He walked quietly to the side of the bed, reached out, then stopped and stood, uncharacteristically hesitant. He should really wake Trip up. Otherwise, he might have problems sleeping the night through. Still...He looked down on the younger man, and his expression softened.

What the hell. Let him sleep. If he doesn't get enough sleep tonight, I'll keep him off duty tomorrow. In fact, I think I'm going to do that anyhow. He still tires too damned easily for my liking.

Having made up his mind, he left to have a late dinner with T'Pol and Phlox.

*****

When he came back, Trip was awake and sitting on the couch, watching a movie.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself." Archer started to change out of his uniform into his casual wear. "You eat?"

"Yeah. Chef sent some dinner over."

"Eat it all?"

"Yep. And dessert. And drank all the milk. I'm stuffed."

"Good. What are you watching?"

"Cat People. Val Lewton. Classic."

Archer shook his head. Trip loved old horror movies, and for the life of him, he could not figure out why. Such an interest seemed to be at odds with Trip's open, sunny personality.

"It's a good one," Trip urged.

Archer shook his head again, but before he could say anything, Trip reached up, pulled him down on the couch beside him.

"Hey!"

"Look—I watched yours last night, didn't I?"

*****

The movie was over. Trip sighed in contentment. "Didn't I tell you it was a good one?"

"Okay, I admit it. It was. But you know, I felt sorry for the main character. She wasn't bad. She didn't ask for any of that to happen to her. Seems unfair."

"Yeah. She was damned if she did and damned if she didn't. A no-win situation. I can sympathize."

"I'll bet," said Archer.

Trip looked at him. "Fortunately, I'm not quite as bad off as she was."

Archer smiled. "Good to hear."

Trip did not answer. Instead, he gave Archer a long, searching look. The Captain sat, quietly, allowed that even gaze, although he could feel his heart start to beat faster. The air between them seemed charged, and he could feel the small hairs on his arms suddenly stand up.

Slowly, deliberately, Trip leaned forward and kissed him. It started out as a chaste, warm kiss; as chaste and gentle as their behaviour over the past three months had been. Even though they had slept together each night in a happy, friendly tangle of arms and legs, Archer had kept his word. He had not even raised the subject with Trip. Instead, he had simply waited; waited for the younger man to regain his confidence; waited until Trip was ready; waited until the time was right.

Trip slipped his arms around him without breaking the kiss. Archer felt the tentative touch of Trip's tongue on his lips. He opened his mouth, allowed Trip to explore him, while he in turn began to do the same. He really does have a sweet taste to him, he thought, as he pulled Trip into a tighter embrace. Trip tensed for a brief second, then relaxed into his arms.

And now the kiss became passionate, intense, urgent. Archer fell back against the couch, and Trip followed him. The engineer moaned, deep in his throat, and broke off the kiss. "Remember what you said?" At Archer's nod, he smiled and added, "I think I'm ready for dessert now, Jon."

Archer looked up at him. "I don't want to have sex with you, Trip."


	20. Twenty

The smile was immediately wiped off of Trip's face. He stiffened, and started to pull away. "Sorry," he said tightly, his voice a combination of anger and hurt. "Didn't mean to bother you."

Archer refused to let him go. "Wait."

"What for? You've made it pretty clear what you want. Or don't want, I should say."

Archer still maintained his grip. "I haven't finished."

Trip looked away. "Do you mind letting me go? I've already made a fool out of myself. I'd like to leave."

"No you haven't. And I don't want you to leave. You're jumping the gun again, Trip."

Trip looked at him, the hurt evident in his eyes. "I heard what you said. You don't want to have sex with me."

"I did say that." At this, Trip tried to pull away again, but Archer held him firmly. "And I don't want to fuck you either, Trip."

"Then there's nothing more to say, is there? Please let me go."

Instead, Archer pulled him close. "What I do want," he said gently, "is to make love to you." He smiled at the look of astonishment on the younger man's face.

"Oh," said Trip in a small voice. "Oh," he repeated again.

Archer laughed and kissed him. Then he sobered. "Trip. I want you to try and help you remember what it's supposed to be all about. Will you let me do that, Trip? Will you let me make love to you?"

Trip smiled. "I'd like that, Jon. I really would."

"Will you let me take charge?"

Trip was silent. "It's your choice," Archer told him. "You're going to have to give me permission, Trip. I won't do anything — not even kiss you — without it. And if you become uncomfortable, just say the word and we'll stop."

Trip looked at him, and suddenly his expression was shy and vulnerable. "I appreciate that, Jon. It's all sort of new to me. Well, I mean, not new, but..." He trailed off.

Archer laughed, and kissed him on the tip of that wonderful ski-slope nose.

"You're not the only one, you know. I guess we'll just have to figure things out together. Okay?"

"Sounds good to me. Okay."

Archer held him tight. Trip surrendered, laying his head on Archer's chest. The Captain stroked his back, and they lay together in a comfortable, companionable silence.

After a few minutes, Trip stirred. "Not that I'm complaining or anything, but..."

"But what?" Archer was definitely teasing him now.

"Is this it? Is this all you want to do?"

"No. But good things come to those who wait, Commander."

"Oh, well, thanks. Yet more words of wisdom from Captain Jonathan Archer."

"You lipping off to me?"

"What do you think?"

"I think I'd better shut you up."

"Think you can?"

"I'm going to sure as hell try." And he kissed Trip. But not quite as gently as before. Trip sighed, squirmed slightly in his embrace.

When Archer broke the kiss off, Trip shifted again. "Kind of close quarters here," he observed.

"Think you'd be more comfortable elsewhere?"

"Wouldn't you?"

"What do you have in mind? The floor? My desk? Your desk? The shower?"

Trip gave him an impudent smile. "Maybe later," he said, enjoying the slight look of surprise on Archer's face. "But I was thinking of something just a little more conventional." He grinned and added, "To start with, anyhow."

"Oh? Define 'conventional'."

Trip gave an exaggerated sigh. "The bed. Jesus, Jon..."

Archer kissed him again, then smiled. "You're just an old-fashioned kind of guy, aren't you?"

Trip grinned again. "Guilty as charged."

Archer smiled. "OK. If you insist." He rose, and taking Trip by the hand, led him over to their bed. They stood a moment, facing each other. "You sure?" Archer asked again.

For an answer, Trip leaned in and kissed him again. They stood together, swaying slightly, arms around each other. Only a short while ago, Archer would have never considered such a scenario either desirable or possible. And yet now, it seemed like they'd been together like this forever, and he couldn't imagine not wanting to be with Trip.

Archer broke off the kiss, and suddenly laughed. Trip looked around, momentarily confused, and then saw the reason for the Captain's mirth. Porthos was sitting at their feet, head cocked, watching them both intently.

Trip shrugged. "What the hell," he said. "It's not like I've never had an audience before."

Archer laughed again. What would he do without Trip in his life? He had had a taste of it when the engineer had gone missing all those months ago, and he had no intention of ever going through that again.

Gently, he pushed the younger man onto the bed. Trip lay back, stared up at him, breathing a little faster than usual. Archer identified the reason for this as combined excitement and nervousness.

Archer peeled his own shirt off, then sat on the bedside. He stroked Trip's hair. "You okay?"

Trip nodded. "Yeah. A little nervous, I guess, but I'm okay."

"Remember — any time it gets to be too much for you, we'll stop. That's a promise. No pressure, Trip."

"I appreciate that. But what about you, Jon?"

Archer smiled. "Trip. Tonight? It's for you, okay? Only for you. So I don't want you to worry about me."

"I wasn't raised to be selfish."

"How is letting me love you being selfish, Trip? Not letting me, on the other hand..."

Trip was still unconvinced. "Seems awful one-sided. And you've already done so much for me."

Archer bent, kissed him. "Trip. Trust me. I don't mind. Really. And when you're ready, you can make it up to me. But tonight? I really want to do this. I really want to make love to you, Trip. To give you some pleasure. Please let me."

"Okay," Trip said reluctantly. "As long as you let me repay the favour."

"When you're ready, I'll collect it from you. With interest. That's a promise."

Trip looked at him, his eyes wide and soft. "All right." And he moved over to make room.

Archer lay down beside him, smiled. "Hi."

"Hi yourself."

"Come here often?"

Trip laughed. "Not really." He lowered his voice. "In case you haven't noticed, it's kind of a low-class crowd around here."

"Then you fit right in."

Trip laughed again. He was starting to relax, which was what Archer was hoping for. The Captain propped himself up on one elbow, ran a gentle hand along Trip's jaw and down along the lines of his throat. Trip swallowed and sighed.

Archer then bent, and began bestowing soft kisses along the same path his hand had just traversed. Trip sighed again, a little louder this time, and shifted slightly.

"You like?"

"Mmm."

"More?"

"Please."

Archer smiled, began working his way back up Trip's neck. He blew gently in Trip's ear, and the younger man shivered — but with pleasure. Archer kissed him again, allowing his hands to run up and down Trip's sides as he did.

He broke off the kiss, smiled at the engineer. It's time for this," and he pulled slightly on Trip's pyjama top, "to come off." And slowly, teasingly, he began to undo the buttons, kissing each new bit of flesh that was revealed. Trip sighed once more, and closed his eyes as Archer continued.

The older man slipped the top off, tossed it aside. "You won't be needing that." Before Trip could respond, he bent his head again, ran his tongue over Trip's nipples; first one, then the other. While his lips and tongue were busy exploring the salty sweetness he found there, his hands were running lightly over Trip's sides, his ribs and stomach. Trip arched his back very slightly and let out a soft moan. Hearing that, Archer was satisfied that things were going the way he hoped for. He continued to tease the younger man, stimulating his nipples and running his hands gently along the soft, smooth skin of the engineer's slender torso.

Trip opened his eyes, stared up at the ceiling. He felt as if he were floating, lost in a soft, sensual haze of pleasure. He could feel Jon's lips on him, and those large but gentle hands caressing him, all working together to create Jon's own particular brand of magic. Now Jon was working his way down his stomach, lightly brushing him with his lips and tickling him with his tongue.

For the first time in what seemed like forever, Trip felt himself responding of his own volition and not due to some damned aphrodisiac oil. He lifted his hips slightly and moaned in response.

"Feels good?" Jon asked him.

"That's an understatement," he whispered in reply. He watched as Jon slowly, lazily, peeled his bottoms off, leaving him clad only in his briefs. Jon also shucked his own pants off, and they joined Trip's in an ever-growing pile on the floor.

Jon gently slipped a hand between Trip's legs, and obligingly, Trip spread them. He closed his eyes as he felt his lover's lips on the inside of his thighs, while his hands continued to stroke, caress and tease.

Archer worked his way down Trip's legs and then back up again. Trip whimpered and arched his back. Archer smiled, then returned his attention to Trip's stomach and nipples.

He put his hands on the waistband of Trip's briefs. Trip moaned again, shifted his hips. Archer pulled the briefs down to the level of Trip's groin, then teasingly stopped, refusing to free his lover's increasingly stimulated sex. Trip moaned in frustration.

"Wait," Archer told him. He lay beside Trip, pulled him close, so that Trip was lying on his side. Face-to-face. He began to kiss his younger lover; deep, passionate, lasting kisses. Trip responded enthusiastically, and Archer could feel himself stir. He was afraid this might frighten Trip off, but instead Trip tightened his arms around him and pressed himself up against Archer.

Trip trembled; not with fear but due to sensory overload. Jon's hands were running lightly up and down his back, dipping down to lightly brush across his half-exposed butt and back up again. Trip shivered once more, and Jon broke off the kiss.

"You okay?" he asked. "I can stop."

"If you do, then I won't be okay," Trip replied hoarsely.

"You sure?"

"Goddammit, Jon," Trip began. Archer laughed and silenced him in the best possible way: he kissed him.

He continued in this for quite some time until Trip was moaning and squirming under his touch.

"Oh, God, Jon—please! You're killing me!"

Archer's natural inclination would be to tease Trip a little more, maybe even ask him if he should stop. But that scenario was just a little too close to what had happened on Tasumi. He kissed Trip again. "I certainly don't want to do that. Be too much of a good thing."

Trip was beyond witty repartee. He whimpered, deep in his throat. "Jon. Please."

Archer took pity on him. Slowly, very slowly, he removed Trip's briefs, threw them on the floor. He kept his own on; he had meant what he had said about this evening being only for Trip.

Trip sighed as his sex was finally freed from the restrictions his clothing had placed on him. His sigh turned into a moan when Jon took him in hand, so to speak.

"Lie back and relax," he heard Jon say. He lay back, but it was doubtful he would be able to relax. He stared at the ceiling, trembling, his heart thudding wildly. Jon squeezed him, very lightly, and he whimpered again. Slowly, his lover began to stroke him. Trip could feel his toes curling in response, and he arched his back.

He gasped as Jon took him into his mouth, began alternatively sucking, nibbling and teasing his erect, aching shaft. Jon took his time; he deliberately kept his attentions slow and measured.

Trip whimpered again. The pleasure was growing, slowly but inexorably. It was a rising tide, and he was being helplessly swept along, unable and unwilling to stop it from taking him where it would.

He groaned. It was rising within him, climbing higher, higher and still higher yet. He was trying to hold on, but his need for release was very great.

"Don't hold back, Trip," he heard Jon say. "Let yourself go."

He moaned in response, and felt Jon begin to work on him in earnest. He arched his back; he was rapidly approaching the point of no return. The pleasure was intense now, it was reaching for a peak, higher now, still higher. How much more could it rise? It was coming; he was coming, and all he was aware of, all he could think of, all he knew was the pleasure and his need for release.

And at last, the trails within him climbed, crossed and finally met in an internal explosion of ecstasy. He stiffened, arched upwards and cried out softly.

Slowly, he collapsed back down onto the bed. "Oh, God," he moaned. "I think I died and went to heaven." He opened his eyes and there was Jon, smiling at him.

"You're not dead yet," his lover informed him. He leaned forward, kissed him. Trip could taste himself on Jon's lips, and the thought of it made him moan again.

"Good?" Jon asked.

Trip sighed. "Do you have to ask?"

Jon took him in his arms. "You know what they told us at the Academy — never take anything for granted, Commander."

"Well, Captain, in that case I would say you've achieved your mission objective."

"Successfully?"

"Oh, without a doubt."

Jon laughed and kissed him. Trip broke off the kiss, looked worriedly at his lover. "But it couldn't have done much for you, though."

"Still having problems with your short-term memory, Trip?"

"Huh?"

Jon began to caress his back. "Remember what I said? Tonight is just for you, Trip."

Trip frowned. "That still doesn't sit well with me, Jon."

His lover disagreed. "But it's fine with me, Trip." And he was kissed again. Trip murmured, shifted slightly. Jon ran his hand lightly down his chest and across his stomach.

He sighed. "Feels good."

Jon did not answer. Trip opened his eyes. Jon was looking down, his expression a mixture of surprise and pleasure. Trip already knew what he was seeing, but he followed Jon's gaze to see that he was becoming erect once again.

He smiled and shrugged. "Sorry. Force of habit."


	21. Twenty-One

A gentle nudge. "Trip?"

"Mmm?"

"You awake?"

"Well I am _now_ ," he said crossly. He blinked and looked around. "What time is it?"

"Thirteen hundred."

"That late?" He tried to sit up. "I'm supposed to be in Engineering. Hess is gonna—"

Archer pushed him back down. "Nope. Not today."

"What are you talking about?"

"Phlox."

"What about him?"

"He thinks you've been doing too much too soon."

"And?"

"So you're going back to off-duty status."

"How long?"

"As long as it takes."

Trip sighed, looked up at Archer. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be on-duty?"

Archer shrugged. "It's quiet. I'm entitled to a lunch break."

"Okay. Let's eat."

Archer did not answer directly. Instead, his hand slipped under the covers. Trip, who had not bothered to put his pyjamas back on, caught his breath and shifted slightly. "Jon?"

His lover kissed him and moved closer. Trip moaned; now Jon's hands were busily exploring him, with highly pleasurable results.

"Jon?" he asked again.

"What is it, Trip?"

"What's on the menu?"

Jon grinned at him, began undoing his own uniform. "Well," he drawled, slipping out of his coverall, "I thought that," he continued, taking off his T-shirt, "considering all the options," peeling off his undershirt, "that what I'm really in the mood for," his briefs were next, "is a great big helping of," and he pulled the covers back, "Trip Tucker."

*****

“How was that?"

"Ask me when I'm conscious."

"You hungry?"

"Oh, God, Jon, I'm too tired to be hungry."

Archer looked stricken at this. "I'm sorry, Trip. I should have realized -"

Trip smiled sleepily. "You didn't hear me holler 'stop', did you? Either time?"

"Maybe not. But you're still on sick leave. Just because you're feeling better is no reason for me to forget that."

"I'm not exactly an invalid, you know."

"I know. But—"

Trip sighed, turned to him, slipped his arms about the Captain. "Jon. Do me a favour?"

"Anything."

"For the love of God, shut up."

*****

"Hey."

Trip looked up from the couch as the Captain entered their quarters. "Hey yourself."

"You eat?"

"Yeah. I was feeling pretty tired, so instead of going to the mess, I asked Chef to send me something. And brother, did he ever."

"Good?"

"All four courses. I don't think I can move." Trip stretched, rubbed his neck. "And Phlox dropped by a little while ago."

Archer sat beside him. "What did he have to say?"

Trip arched a brow at him. "He said, and I quote, 'Moderation, Commander'."

Archer began to massage Trip's neck and shoulders. "I guess we're busted."

"We?"

"Yeah. He stopped by my ready room. Said the same thing to me."

Trip groaned in pleasure as Jon's strong fingers found the stiff muscles in his neck and shoulders, and began to ease the tension away. "How do you figure he found out? I didn't say anything."

"There's not much that escapes Phlox's attention, you know."

"No kidding." He was silent for a moment. "You know, he did take a scan when he dropped by. Maybe something did — or didn't — show up."

"Hormone levels, maybe?"

"Hmmm. That might do it." He sighed and shifted as a particularly tight knot of muscles began to loosen up. "I was wondering, though ..."

"What, Trip?"

"What do you think the Denobulan definition of 'moderation' is?"

*****

"Hey."

Trip looked up. "Hey yourself."

Archer began to change into his civvies, looked over to where Trip was stretched out on the bed, reading. "You get any sleep today?"

Trip yawned. "Did I ever. I just got up a little while ago." He saw the look Jon gave him, and added hastily, "I ate, too. Went to the mess and loaded up. You can ask Malcolm."

"I believe you, Trip." He finished changing, stretched out beside Trip. "What are you reading?"

Trip held up the padd. "Engineering report."

Archer frowned. "Trip —"

Trip interrupted. "Look, Jon. I accept the fact that I'm still on sick leave. And I haven't been anywhere near Engineering. Really. But I've got to know what's going on. Otherwise, when I do go back, I'll never be able to get back up to speed." Porthos, who was lying at Trip's feet, wagged his tail. "Hey," Trip said, pointing it out. "Even Porthos agrees."

"Last time I looked," Archer replied dryly, "Porthos wasn't captain."

Trip, knowing this was Jon's way of giving his grudging permission, grinned. "Things may yet change."

Archer stretched. "Brat."

"Tyrant."

"Humph."

Trip grinned again. "Gotcha."

Archer turned on his side, facing him. "How long is that report?"

"Ah — it's pretty short. Only 12 pages."

Archer slipped his hand under Trip's shirt. "Break it down for me."

Trip shifted. "What?" He closed his eyes as Jon's fingers found one of his nipples, began to gently manipulate it.

"You heard me."

"Uh... I heard ... but ..."

"You're so interested in this damn report. Give me a breakdown."

Trip opened his eyes at this, although Jon had not stopped his manipulations. "Oh, you're not serious."

"Oh, but I am." He stopped long enough to peel Trip's shirt off.

"This your way of getting even, is it?"

"Yep."

"You really are a son of a — ah, God, Jon ..."

Archer smiled. "You bet I am. Now, Commander — the report." He bent his head to Trip's chest, began running his tongue back and forth.

"Oh ... my ... Ah, okay. Basically -"

Archer stopped. "No, no, no. A page-by-page synopsis, please."

"Are you _kidding_ me?"

Archer took an already outraged nipple in one hand, began to gently tease further with his fingers. "No, I'm not. Page one."

Trip arched his back. "Page one. Page one..." He thumbed the padd. "Page one," he said breathlessly, "sets out basic engineering stats for the past month. How many hours at impulse," he groaned, "that kind... of thing... " he trailed off.

"Is that the best you can do, Commander?" And without waiting for a reply, Archer began to use his lips and tongue again, while running his fingertips lightly along Trip's sides.

"Oh, God, Jon, you're a real bastard, you know that, right?"

"That sounds dangerously close to insubordination, Commander. But I'll let it slide — for now. Page two." And he took his own shirt off, while Trip tried to find page two on the padd.

"Page two," he finally said hoarsely, "is a breakdown of the amount of warp plasma used in relation to engine use. It's — it's actually a pretty good ratio."

"'Pretty good'? They teach you those terms in all those Engineering classes you took?"

"Smart guy. You try and do better."

Archer did not answer; instead, he began to caress Trip again. "Page three?" he finally asked.

Trip tried to read the report, but it was difficult; the numbers were dancing before his eyes, and he was starting to have other things on his mind — and elsewhere. "Page three," he finally managed. "Well, pages three to six details repairs done in Engineering."

"Such as?"

He groaned, as Jon ran a teasing finger up and down his stomach. "That plasma vent in the nacelle. That's — that's about it. The rest is," he gasped, "mostly small stuff." He closed his eyes as Jon set about removing his bottoms.

"Keep going," he heard Jon say. _Only if you do_ , he was tempted to respond, but managed not to. With difficulty.

"Pages six to ten are all the repairs that are carried out aboard ship."

Jon's voice was infuriatingly calm as he trailed his fingers along the insides of Trip's thighs. "Anything I should know about?"

"Besides the fact that you're driving me nuts?"

Jon did not reply. Instead, he simply pulled on the waistband of Trip's briefs, removed them. Trip arched his back and moaned softly as Jon bent his head, began to slowly, deliberately nibble on Trip's erect member. "Jon..."

Archer stopped, took Trip in hand, squeezed very lightly. "I'll ask again. Anything important?"

"Not unless you count ... oh, God, Jon ... " Trip was whimpering, but Jon was merciless. He squeezed again, very lightly, just enough to drive Trip slightly crazier than he already was. "Okay! Is changing the lights in Subcommander T'Pol's quarters six times important?"

"Six times? Why?"

"Jesus, Jon, how the hell should I know? Probably the goddamned panels weren't aligned to the correct 1/100 centimeters."

Archer began to stroke him, very, very slowly. Trip cried out. "The last two pages?"

Trip whimpered again. "Just notations. Personnel. Who's been off. Leave. Accidents."

"Accidents?"

"Jon, please ..."

"Accidents?" Archer repeated patiently.

"Nothing serious," Trip managed to gasp. "A few bruises. Minor cuts. And Rostov burned his fingers. Again."

"Again?"

Trip groaned. "He's a good engineer," he finally managed, "but the ol' hand-to-eye co-ordination is sometimes ... lacking ... "

Archer smiled at him. "That's a somewhat sketchy analysis ..."

For an answer, Trip hurled the padd across the room. "Goddammit, Jon!"

Archer laughed, leaned forward and kissed Trip. "I'm sorry. I am a son of a bitch, aren't I? I don't know why you put up with me."

"I don't either," Trip growled.

Archer kissed him again, lay beside him. "Let me make it up to you, okay?"

"You're damned right you're going to."

Archer smiled again. "Noted." He pulled Trip onto his side, kissed him deeply and ran his hands up and down his back.

Trip sighed, closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of Jon's hands wandering over him, leaving trails of pleasure in their wake. "Trip," his lover said softly. He opened his eyes to find that Jon had somehow managed to remove his clothing as well, and was lying on his side away from Trip.

"You sure?"

"Go ahead," Jon invited. He reached over, handed Trip a tube of lube gel. "I promised I'd make it up to you, didn't I?"

Trip grinned. "Page by goddamned page, no less."

"You wouldn't."

"Oh, wouldn't I?"

Archer grimaced. "I guess I have it coming."

"That's not all you're gonna have coming, buddy."

He felt Trip position himself, then moaned as his young lover entered him.

"Tell me about page one of my report."

"You're a brat."

"Noted." Trip nibbled on his lover's ear. "But turnabout is fair play."

"All right, you brat." He closed his eyes, began to recite in time to Trip's thrusts. "Page one — engineering stats. Page two — oh, Trip ... page two — warp plasma consumption."

He moaned, deep in his throat, but Trip was as merciless as he had been.

"That's only two," he heard him gasp. "You can do better than that, can't you?"

"Pages three to sex — I mean six — repairs in Engineering." He heard Trip moan in his ear. It was becoming difficult to remember; he had other things now to think about. Such as Trip, moving in him, Trip's hand on his sex, rhythmically stroking, moving, rubbing ... But to quit now would take the fun out of their little game. And Trip was right; turnabout was fair play. "Six to ten," he managed, "repairs to the ship. And," he gasped, "ten to twelve, Engineering personnel reports." He finished just in time; Trip's thrusts were becoming faster, harder, and Trip was pumping him in time with them. Archer could feel his climax approaching. "Oh, God, Trip," he moaned, "Don't stop. Please."

"I've no intention of stopping," Trip said, his accent more noticeable, as it always was when he was excited. He closed his eyes. God, it felt so good, being with Jon like this! He had a brief, passing wish that they could stay like this forever, suspended in time-space, and then his climax hit him. He stiffened and cried out. An instant later, he felt Jon come in his hand.

He sighed and slowly relaxed. Through drowsy eyes, he watched Jon get up, clean himself, and then climb back into bed. He pulled the covers back over them, and Porthos, who had retreated to his own little bed when the fun had started, bounded back up and settled at their feet.

Jon took Trip in his arms, and he snuggled close, enjoying the warmth and close contact with his lover. He made a small, sleepy sound of contentment. "Hell of a way to deliver a report," he observed languidly.

"Unforgettable," was the reply.

"Going to make that standard procedure?"

"It's tempting. What do you think?"

Trip smiled sleepily. "I don't know. I'd be worried about some of the reports I get— or write, for that matter. Could you survive a 100 page analysis of warp field dynamics and subspace structures?"

"Oh, hell — that would probably be fatal." Jon smiled and kissed him. "Still — what a way to go."


	22. Twenty-Two

Trip yawned, stretched and looked around. The bedside clock told him it was mid-afternoon. It seemed that all he was doing lately was sleeping. He smiled. Well, all right, that wasn't _all_. The past three days had passed in an erotic haze. It seemed that he and Jon were intent on making up for lost time. He stretched again. Well, if Phlox was going to continue to insist that Trip stay in bed, then he couldn't think of a better way to pass the time. And even Phlox would have to admit that he was getting plenty of sleep.

He lay motionless for a quiet moment. Jon had woken him this morning before his shift had started, and they shared a gentle interlude before Jon had to go to the bridge. _Talk about starting the day off with a bang_ , he thought.

He was also beginning to realize just exactly what he had let himself in for. Jon was most definitely an alpha male, with a capital "A", and as such, enjoyed both initiating things and taking control once they were underway. As a result, Trip often found himself on the receiving end of skillful manipulations that left him gasping and exhausted. Jon had relented to the extent where he now allowed Trip to give as well as receive, but it had been Jon who had the deciding vote on that issue.

Trip found he didn't mind. Jon was a accomplished and considerate lover, and it seemed that he was determined to replace all the memories that Trip had of the cold callous treatment he received on Tasumi, where he had been simply a toy for the enjoyment of others, to those where lovemaking meant he was cherished and protected.

He also knew that Jon would never force himself on him. Really, when he thought about it, that meant he held all the cards here. All he had to do was say "no", and Jon would respect that. Knowing that had brought him the freedom and confidence to respond freely to Jon's attentions.

He shifted. He was naked under the covers— again. He wondered whether he should just forgo wearing pajamas altogether; after all, he couldn't seem to keep them on lately. Upon further consideration, he decided against it. Jon seemed to derive a great deal of pleasure from undressing him, and if that was the case, why deny him such a simple thing?

He yawned again. He should really go and get some chow, but it would probably be best if he had a shower first. He was probably pretty fragrant by now.

He rose, went into the bathroom, thoughtfully fingering his jaw as he went. He definitely needed a shave. And the use of a toothbrush was probably indicated as well.

He turned the water on, stepped underneath the stream and turned his face gratefully up into the hot water. It was then he heard someone enter the room, and he looked over his shoulder. It was Jon, and he was staring at Trip with a particular intensity that gave him a slightly fluttery feel in the region of his belly.

"How's the water?"

He knew all he had to say was something non-committal, and Jon would leave him alone. But he really didn't want that, did he? _Oh, well — what the hell._

He gave Jon a saucy grin. "Why not find out for yourself?"

"I thought you'd never ask," was the hoarse response. Quickly, Jon shed his clothes and joined him under the shower. He soaped Trip's back, and Trip returned the favour Then Jon turned, began to soap Trip's chest and stomach.

He pressed close, took Trip in his arms and kissed him hungrily, greedily. Trip returned the kiss, and felt Jon's hands run up and down his back, then along his chest, his stomach — and lower down. At this, Trip felt himself beginning to rise to the occasion, so to speak. His knees seemed suddenly weak and he leaned against Jon for support.

At this, Jon turned off the water, led him out of the stall. Trip allowed Jon to dry him off and then lead him out of the bathroom.

Apparently, however, the bed was too far away for what Jon had in mind. He was kissed again, hard, and the next thing he knew, Jon had him lying on the floor. Trip lay there, watched as Jon knelt beside him, placed his hand on Trip's legs. "Spread them," his lover ordered, and Trip happily complied.

A few minutes later, Trip found himself lying on the floor, whimpering, his legs spread brazenly from east to west, with Jon in between, busily doing things to him that were causing him to make frantic little sounds, deep in his throat.

"Oh, Jon...please..."

Jon didn't answer. At least, not directly. Instead, Trip found himself arching his back and moaning. Again. Jon did something particularly outrageous with his tongue and Trip cried aloud.

Archer looked at his young lover with satisfaction. Trip was right on the edge, which was exactly where Archer wanted him to be. He drew a slow hand down Trip's chest and stomach, and Trip whimpered in reply. Archer wasn't sure if it was a lingering after-effect, due to all the aphrodisiacs that Trip had been forced to ingest, or whether Trip had always been like this, but Archer found him to be amazingly sensual and tactile. Another touch brought another whimpering moan.

He sat up and back. Trip looked at him with eyes that were drowsy with pleasure. "Something wrong?" he asked in a thick, furry voice.

Archer looked around, saw his desk. A slow smile spread across his face. "Nothing," he replied. He stood, his own arousal evident, and pulled Trip to his feet, kissed him. He indicated the desk with a nod. "Remember what you said the other day?" Trip nodded. "You game?"

For an answer, Trip walked over to the desk, leaned against it, gave Archer his trademark mischievous grin. "Well," he asked impudently, "I am. What about you?"

"Just a minute," Archer replied. He hurried over to the bed, returned with the lube gel.

He grabbed Trip, kissed him roughly and passionately. If Trip didn't respond in kind, he was going to back off. Immediately. But Trip kissed him back with equal force and fervour.

Then, without saying a word, Trip turned, bent over so that he was resting on the desktop, his hands gripping the edge.

Archer was still hesitant. The last time they had done it this way was on Tasumi. Was this too soon for Trip? "You sure?"

"Do I look like I'm not sure?" Trip demanded.

"Trip, maybe —" Archer began.

"Shut up!" Trip ordered. He added, "You know what I want."

Archer mentally shrugged. _What the hell._ Using generous amounts of the gel, he positioned himself and entered Trip. His lover moaned. "Trip — you okay?"

"Oh, God, Jon... please... "

"You want me to stop?"

Trip's hands clenched the desk. "Stop teasing me, goddammit!"

Archer decided to take that as a "no". He began to thrust into Trip, and moaned himself. He reached, took Trip in hand, and began stroking his lover in time with his own thrusts. "Oh, you feel good," he groaned.

"You, too," Trip managed to pant in agreement.

"More?"

"What the hell do you think?"

He continued, and now Trip was crying out. That was another thing Archer had learned; Trip tended to be rather noisy. He thought abstractedly that more soundproofing of their quarters might prove to be a good idea.

"Harder," Trip cried. "Faster!" Between Jon inside of him and Jon manipulating him, he was caught in a white-hot ecstasy that was sharpening, building, intensifying. Jon complied with his pleas, and Trip found himself gripping the edge of the desk, whimpering and moaning. He heard Jon groan, and knew that both of them were at the point of no return. Jon stiffened, cried out, and Trip felt him come. Jon's hand never slowed, though, and a moment later, Trip joined him as his own climax crashed into him, and he let out a rebel yell that he was sure they probably heard three systems back. Right now he didn't care, though.

He groaned, and lay exhausted on the desk top. Jon withdrew, then gently pulled him up, turned him around, and put his arms around him, making Trip feel warm and protected. He sighed in satisfaction. Very gently, Jon kissed him. "Let's get you back to bed," he said tenderly.

"Oh, _now_ you remember we have a bed," was Trip's response. But he allowed Jon to lead him back to their bed. Despite himself, he yawned. "Think Phlox would consider that 'moderate'?" he asked as he crawled into bed.

Archer followed, pulled the covers up over both of them, dislodging Porthos, who had been watching from the bed. The beagle responded with an affronted yelp, and skulked off to his own bed to sulk for a while. Archer smiled at Trip, and Trip smiled drowsily back.

"Do you really care?" Archer asked him.

"No, not really." He looked at Archer. "You staying?"

"Yeah. An afternoon nap sounds like just the thing."

Trip nodded, and Archer opened his arms. "Come here, you." Trip happily obeyed, laying his head on Archer's chest, draping an arm around his waist, and slipping one leg between both of Archer's. Archer, enjoying the feel of flesh on flesh, wrapped his arms around Trip, held him close. He stroked Trip's back, and the younger man wriggled lazily in response.

"Tired?"

"Yeah."

"Well, at least now you're tired because you've been busy. Not because you can't sleep."

"That's true." Trip yawned again, closed his eyes.

"How are the dreams?"

Trip reopened his eyes at that, and frowned, considering the question. "I still have nightmares, if that's what you're asking. But not as often." He sighed. "I guess that's an improvement."

"From two, three times a night? I'd say so. You've come a long way, you know?"

Trip was not entirely convinced. "You think?"

Archer kissed him. "No, I don't think. I _know_."


	23. Twenty-Three

Archer sighed. Again. For the third time in three minutes. He rubbed his eyes, then looked again at the words burning on the screen before him.

_Jesus Christ. Unbelievable. Just unbelievable_. It was hard to accept that this could happen in this day and age, but the reports—not only from the Vulcan Security Directorate, but from everybody, including the increasingly frantic ones from the planet itself—were undeniably true.

He leaned back, laced his hands behind his head. Should anything be done? Could anything be done? Those were the questions of the hour. The Vulcans, of course, were predictably all about non-interference, but they sang that old song so often that by now it was just plain noise as far as he was concerned.

Starfleet and EarthGov were dithering and debating, and considering that everyone with an opinion was demanding to be heard, God only knew how long it was going to take to reach a consensus of any sort. Beside, at 100 light years away, the Sol System was safely out of reach. No worries about frantic survivors arriving on Earth's shores any time soon.

The Andorians? They were more concerned about their problems—perceived or otherwise—with the Vulcans to worry abut the woes of anyone else. The Tellarites? They weren't in much of a position to do anything, one way or another. And the Klingons? Well, their attitude was predictably brutal. Blow anyone out of the sky who encroached on their territory. A solution to the problem, yes, but a rather final one.

So if anyone were going to do anything—assuming anything could be done, that is—it would probably end up being the poor dumb naive humans, in the guise of _Enterprise_ and her crew. Again. Possibly with the help of the Vulcans, if their logical arms could be twisted hard enough. Logically, of course.

He sighed again. Increasingly, it seemed to him that Earth, and _Enterprise_ in particular, was finding itself in the same unenviable position as the 21st century UN Peacekeeping forces. Trying to keep the peace and avoid getting their asses shot off at the same time, while everyone else sat around and offered critiques of their performance. From a safe distance, of course.

Well, for the time being, all of these thoughts were nothing more than that. Thoughts. There might not be anything anyone could do. He sighed again. He wasn't qualified enough as to the technical aspects of the problem to know whether this was true or not. Considering the spotty nature of the reports received, it was possible that there wasn't enough information at present to make that determination.

He touched a toggle on his com. "Subcommander T'Pol; Dr. Phlox — would you please report to my ready room?"

He hesitated. By all rights, as third-in-command, Trip should be present as well. Protocol demanded it, but all his instincts went against this, and he decided to trust his gut. He'd discuss all of this with Trip later, in private. After first checking with Phlox. God knew things were going to be tough enough to begin with, without having to saddle Trip with this. But he'd have to know, sooner or later. He pinched the bridge of his nose. _Dammit. Just when I thought we were well out of it._

His door buzzed. He looked up. "Come."

Phlox and T'Pol entered. "You wished to see us?" The Vulcan asked coolly.

"I did indeed. Please sit, both of you. We have a great deal to discuss."

*****

Archer stretched on the couch, ostensibly reading, but in reality keeping an eye on the chronometer. Thursday night. Book Club Night. Subcommander T'Pol had decided to take Trip's suggestion about starting one seriously. As a result, every Thursday evening, anywhere from 10 to 25 _Enterprise_ personnel could be found in the Mess, discussing literary works that ranged from James Joyce's _Ulysses_ to Agatha Christie's _Murder on the Orient Express_.

Feeling that he was in some way responsible and therefore had an obligation, Trip had reluctantly joined, found that he enjoyed the debates and was now one of the most faithful members.

Archer smiled. Trip had one hell of a social life. He'd told Trip once that he hadn't realized his lover was such a social butterfly. "As long as you don't call me _Madame_ Butterfly," Trip had responded, "then I guess it's okay." He smiled fondly at the recollection. Trip could always make him laugh.

In addition to Movie Night and Book Club Night, Trip also spent a fair amount of time with his friends, most notably Malcolm Reed. Trip was sensitive enough to realize that Malcolm was not entirely comfortable socializing in the presence of his Captain, so he and the armoury officer could often be found in the Mess or Reed's quarters playing chess. Try as he might, Trip could not convince Malcolm to play GO with him.

Trip was also thinking of starting an inter-ship basketball league. He had lobbied Archer to convert one of the cargo bays into a playing area. The idea was a good one, and the Captain had been on the verge of telling the engineer to go ahead with his plans. Now? He suspected that shortly Trip was going to have zero interest in games.

Their door opened and Trip came in at his usual gallop. It had taken another few months for him to regain all of his lost energy, but regain it he had. In full. Archer now found that he had to constantly rein the younger man in; otherwise, Trip would work himself into exhaustion.

"Hey," Trip said. "Sorry I'm late. But we got to arguing about —" He broke off at the look on Archer's face. "Jon? What's wrong?" He came over to the couch. "Jesus, Jon, you look like hell. Are you all right?"

_Typical, Archer mused. Worrying about me_. He reached up, took Trip's hand.

"Sit down. We need to talk."

"Uh, oh," said Trip. "Am I in trouble?"

"No, nothing like that. But please. Sit."

*****

Trip exhaled, leaned back and stared at the ceiling. Archer carefully kept his arm around his young lover's shoulders.

"Are you sure?" Trip asked. He then shook his head. "Stupid question. Of course you're sure."

"Are you okay?"

Trip tried to smile, but it was a pretty miserable effort. "I really don't know, Jon."

Archer drew him close. He knew that Trip's first response would be to shut down emotionally, and he was determined not to allow Trip to shut him out as well. "I can imagine," he said gently.

Slowly, Trip relaxed into his embrace. "I don't know," he repeated. "I mean, I'm ashamed to say that a part of me is glad. Can you imagine? Glad?" He shook his head. "I thought I was better than that."

"You are," Archer said simply. "But you'd have to be a saint — or at least a Vulcan — not to have feelings like that. You were hurt, Trip. It's only natural you'd react this way."

"But still —"

"The fact that you also feel badly about those feelings tells me just what a good person you really are."

Trip smiled very faintly at this, and Archer kissed him soberly. "Trip. I want you to see Phlox on a daily basis until this is over."

"Jon—"

"Please, Trip."

Trip sighed. "If you say so."

Archer rubbed his back. "I do. But thank you anyway, Trip." He gave him a hug. "Go take a shower. I want you in bed early tonight."

"I'm not sure I'll sleep."

"I thought you might say that. Phlox left one of his potions for you."

Trip simply nodded, sighed again, rose, and trudged off to the shower.

Archer also rose, began to unbutton his shirt. It had gone better than he had hoped. He finished changing, and sat on the bedside. He remembered T'Pol's initial comments on factionalism. Not normal, indeed. And now, possibly fatal as well.

His musings were interrupted by Trip, who came out of the shower clad in his pyjamas, climbed into bed and lay down.

"Trip," said Archer. "Phlox suggested that I try giving you a massage. Might help you sleep without having to take anything. He knows you don't like sleeping pills." He didn't add that the doctor felt that physical contact would help keep the lines of communication between them open, and maintaining such would be vital in the days ahead.

Generally, Trip enjoyed receiving massages, just as Archer enjoyed giving them, but tonight the younger man was uncharacteristically hesitant.

"Trip?" Archer repeated. "If you don't want to —"

Trip shook his head. "I don't know what I want, Jon. I'm all mixed up."

Archer smiled at him, and in his familiar gesture of affection, gently stroked his hair. "No kidding."

Trip smiled very faintly. "I guess it wouldn't hurt."

He lay passively, allowing Archer to unbutton his top, remove it. The bottoms followed. He then rolled over onto his stomach and closed his eyes. Archer began to work on his tense neck muscles, and Trip sighed very faintly. "I can't believe it," he told Archer. "Who'd be crazy enough to actually use biological weapons?"

"Apparently the R'oslinga faction."

Trip sighed again as Archer continued. "It's a mess, isn't it, Jon?"

"No kidding."

_And that's an understatement_ , Archer thought. Two months ago, the simmering tensions between the R'oslinga and Volasha factions had exploded into open warfare.

The cause, as was usual, had been a stupid, completely avoidable incident: R'oslinga and Volashan troops had been feinting along their mutual border, when someone had lost his or her head and fired across that border. A full-fledged firefight had erupted, with casualties on both sides.

Even then, sanity might still have prevailed, but a Volashan agent working undercover in the R'oslinga household had taken it into her head during this period to wreak some extremely personal and final vengeance on the third son of Lord R'oslinga in return for the unwelcome attentions she had been forced to endure from him.

_Trip could probably sympathize with her on that one_ , Archer thought, and that thought made him bend down and give Trip a gentle kiss. Trip responded absently. Archer sighed, and began working on the small of Trip's back. Due to all the bending and crawling about Trip had to do in the course of his work in Engineering, his back muscles were always tense. Archer again briefly wondered if he should have Trip undergo chiropractic treatment with Phlox; it might be very useful. Although right now would certainly not be a good time to raise the subject. Not with the mess on Tasumi.

There was no evidence that the second incident was linked in any way to the first, but Lord R'oslinga, furious at the damage to his troops and devastated at the loss of his youngest son, was not in the mood to care. Instead, he was eager for revenge.

Accordingly, a R'oslinga operative had polluted the Volashan water supply with a virus. Said virus was supposedly engineered to target only the Volashans, but either sloppy work or the devious nature of viruses in general, who, after all, cared little about factional politics and were also notoriously unreliable in their loyalties, had caused it to be fatal to everyone it infected.

The R'oslingas had a vaccine. A useless vaccine, as it turned out. Not surprising, really. The very nature of their microbial little pet had practically guaranteed that it would mutate out of control once let out in the open and away from controlled conditions.

Things then went from bad to worse when the Volashan's contaminated water had seeped into the larger waterways on the planet. As a result, the usually beneficent cycle of rain, evaporation and more rain became the weather of death, as the virus was literally rained down on the planet at large, and then spread at a hellishly quick pace throughout the populace.

Two months later Tasumi was practically a ghost planet. Reading between the dry, dispassionate lines of the Vulcan reports, Archer could glimpse the horror that must have been life — and death — there. Social structures had completely broken down. There were riots in the streets. Law and order was non-existent. Social orders were gone. Slaves had taken gruesome and personal revenges on their masters before dying themselves beside their corpses. Survivors prowled the once-proud mansions of the factional lords and ladies, stealing whatever they could and destroying what ever they could not. Medical care was a joke; most of the doctors and health care workers had been amongst the first to perish. Archer remembered his history studies, reading how the Black Death had almost caused the total collapse of European society, but he had never expected to see something similar happen in modern times.

Those who had access to off-planet ships had fled, only to find that they had become inter-stellar pariahs. No one had any idea if this virus could jump species, but no one was taking any chances. As a result, the survivors found themselves turned away from every planet and ship they approached.

Archer finished the backs of Trip's legs, patted him lightly on his briefs-clad rump. "Over you go."

Trip complied, lying quietly while Archer began to slowly work on his shoulders and chest.

This was the crux of the problem facing the various governments in this sector. What to do with the surviving Tasumi, both on-planet and off? The planet had been summarily quarantined; no one was willing to risk contamination by making planetfall.

EarthGov had suggested that medical supplies and food could be beamed onto the planet's surface to help alleviate the suffering, but so far, the Vulcans were not convinced this would be of any lasting help, pointing out the lack of law and order would mean that the aid would probably not get to those who needed it most.

There were reports of Tasumi ships headed along the same vector as Enterprise's current course. And if they contacted Enterprise and begged for help, what then?

If he were honest, Archer would have to admit that his first impulse would be to tell them to go to hell. After what Trip had been put through on that planet, Archer had little love for Tasumi or its inhabitants.

Except that it was highly unlikely that any of the survivors would have been directly responsible for Trip's ordeal. The Volashans had been, by all accounts, completely wiped out. He supposed that one could argue that every member of a society had to share responsibility for the actions and attitudes of that society, but that was just a little too abstract and philosophical for his liking. And was he really going to say to any survivors, _someone on your planet hurt my lover, so now I'm going to hurt you?_ Right. It was attitudes like that which had started the whole sad mess in the first place.

He finished up by massaging each of Trip's feet. "There," he said. "Feel better?"

"A little," Trip admitted.

Archer lay beside him, took him in his arms. "Only a little? Well, I guess that's better than nothing."

"Sorry," Trip sighed.

"It's all right," Archer reassured him, lightly stroking his back.

But was it? He was worried about what all of this was going to do to Trip, and he'd be a liar if he said otherwise. The engineer had already been put through the wringer once; now it looked like he was going to be put through it again. All those memories that Trip had managed to come to terms with were sure as hell going to come back to haunt him. He sighed. Tasumi. It was a goddamned albatross hanging around his lover's neck. Would to God that they could both just forget the place ever existed. Unfortunately, it looked like God wasn't going to be granting that particular wish. He sighed.

"Jon?" Trip's voice broke into his thoughts.

"What is it?"

"You okay?"

He smiled. _Worried about me. Again_. And Trip thought he was a bad person. If only he could see himself as everyone else did; he'd realize what a prize he really was. But Trip was far too modest to ever think of himself that way. I wish I could show him.

"I'm fine," he told his lover. "Just thinking some long thoughts, that's all."

Trip sighed. "You're not the only one."

"I'll bet."

"Jon?"

"What is it, Trip?"

"Would you... No, forget it."

"Forget what?"

"Nothing. It's not appropriate."

"What isn't?"

Trip hesitated. "I ..."

Archer looked at him, smiled. "I think I know what you want. And trust me, that's never inappropriate. Never."

"It's just that — after everything that's happened ..."

"You need reassurance, Trip. Nothing wrong with that. I understand."

"You don't mind?"

"Of course not." He kissed him gently. "I'm more than happy to give you that, and anything else that I can."

Trip sighed. "I'm sorry."

Archer kissed him again. "You know, Trip," he said, "you sound as if making love to you is some god-awful chore that I'm obligated to do."

Trip looked stricken. "I didn't mean that."

Archer began to manipulate Trip's nipples, sucking on them in the way he knew Trip liked, using his tongue to gently stimulate and pleasure him. He stopped long enough to say, "I know you didn't."

He pulled on Trip's briefs, removed them. Trip lay naked before him, and he paused a moment to admire his lover's body. Even though Archer's natural inclination was towards women, he had learned to appreciate Trip's own beauty. He drew a lingering hand across the gently muscled chest, down the flat stomach and along the slender, supple flanks. Trip sighed and shifted.

"I'm always here for you," Archer told him. "Just like I know you're always here for me."

Trip opened those compelling blue eyes of his, looked up at him. "Thanks," he whispered.

Archer began to caress Trip's sex, watched as the younger man responded. "Any time."

Trip moaned, squirmed slightly. Archer continued his easy caresses, keeping his touch light and gentle. Trip arched his back slightly. "You're so good to me," he moaned.

"Why shouldn't I be?" Archer asked, beginning to stroke Trip's erect member. "After all, you're good to me."

Trip opened his eyes again, looking surprised. "Really?" He closed them as Archer tightened his grip very slightly, then opened them once more at the sound of Archer's laughter. "What?"

"I don't believe you," Archer told him. "You obviously have no idea how good you've been to — and for — me." He shook his head, smiled. "Trip. If only you knew."

Trip sighed. "Jon. I'm sorry."

"Shut up. I want you thinking about other things. Like this." Trip groaned in response.

He bent his head. "Or this." And he began working on Trip in earnest. His lover tensed, arched his back, and began to make those faint whimpering sounds, deep in his throat, that Archer knew meant he was starting to come.

"Don't hold back," he said. "Let yourself go, Trip." And a moment later, Trip did. He sighed, relaxed back down, lay quietly while Archer cleaned him.

Archer lay down again, took Trip in his arms. "Feel better?"

"What about you?"

Archer shrugged. "I'll let you make it up to me some other time." He ran his hands up and down Trip's back. "Feel better?" He asked again.

"Yeah. Thanks, Jon."

"Good. Think you could sleep now?"

"I think so. Thanks."

Archer kissed him, pulled the covers up over them. "My pleasure."

"I beg to differ," Trip said sleepily.


	24. Twenty-Four

The sound of his com, sharp and insistent, broke into Archer's sleep. He sat up. "Archer." He kept his voice low, hoping not to waken Trip.

T'Pol's clear, dry tones responded. _Of course_ , he thought. The Vulcan only required four hours sleep a night (if that) and so could often found on the bridge at all hours of the night. "I apologize for waking you, Captain. But there is a ship heading on an intercept course. It is a Tasumi vessel."

_Damn_. "Very well, Subcommander. I'll be right there." He broke the connection and turned to find Trip was wide awake and listening. "You don't have to --"

"— Yes, I do," Trip interrupted. He got out of bed. "Let's go."

Despite himself, Archer smiled. "You going to go like that?" Trip looked down at himself. He was naked. Again. "Unless of course," Archer added, "you want to give the crew something to talk about."

Trip gave him an impudent grin. "Hate to break it to you," he said, "but you and I are old news."

Archer began to get into his uniform. "Really?"

Trip, also dressing, nodded. "Yep. The latest item of interest is Hoshi and Cunningham. Guess more than dinner is cooking in the Galley."

Archer did not ask Trip how he knew. The engineer had his sources, and they were always reliable.

"It's interesting, though," Trip mused as he pulled on his boots. "I mean, so far as I know, no one who was at that meeting said anything about what I told Forrest and Soval. And yet somehow, the whole damn ship knew. Hell, Travis was even laying bets as to when we'd get together."

"You okay with that?" Trip was a private individual, and Archer wondered how the younger man felt about the crew engaging in such speculations.

Trip shrugged. "Kind of hard to keep something like a secret on a ship like this. And no one gives me a hard time about it. Fact is, I think everyone is actually pretty pleased about the whole thing."

"How nice of them," Archer said dryly.

"Isn't it?" Trip replied, equally dryly, and followed his Captain out the door.

***** 

Faces around the display table were grim. Even T'Pol looked faintly upset, which was the Vulcan equivalent of going on a crying jag in public.

"Opinions?" Archer asked.

"It is difficult to know exactly how to proceed," T'Pol replied. "The readings from the Tasumi vessel are of little use, due to the interference from the nearby pulsar. We have no way of knowing if anyone on-board is still alive."

"No response?"

Hoshi shook her head. "I'm continuing to send messages on all frequencies, Captain. No response."

"That would appear to rule out anyone being alive over there," Reed said.

"Not necessarily," was Phlox's response. "They may be too ill to respond."

"Or their communications array may be too badly damaged," Hoshi added. "It looks like they may have been fired on."

"Or been hit by meteorites." Reed was obviously a member of the no-survivors faction.

"Regardless," said Phlox, "we must ascertain whether there are any survivors. If there are, we must render any assistance we are capable of."

"I agree," said Archer. "But I will not endanger _Enterprise_ or any of my crew to do so. How do we go about it, then?"

"It's obvious," Phlox replied. "We must board the Tasumi ship."

"But we don't know if the virus is still active," Reed pointed out. "And if it is, we don't know if it will jump species."

"What about the EV suits?" Hoshi asked. "They'd protect anyone who went over there, wouldn't they?"

"But the suits themselves might become contaminated," Reed said. "We'd have to destroy them, just to be on the safe side. And the slightest error could result in _Enterprise_ becoming a plague ship."

"If the virus jumps species," Phlox argued. "It may not."

Reed shook his head. "Considering the sloppy bio-engineering that went into its creation, I wouldn't count on that, Doctor. The damned thing has probably already gone through 2 or 3 mutations. Who knows what it's capable of by now?"

He looked at Archer. "From a tactical point of view, sir, sending someone over there—"

"-- Why bother?" It was the first time Trip had spoken, and all heads swivelled to look at him.

"Are you suggesting we do nothing, Commander?" T'Pol asked.

"I understand that you may have a different perspective, based on your rather unfortunate experiences on Tasumi," Phlox began, "but I still find it difficult to believe that you would —"

"-- You don't understand at all," Trip replied impatiently. "And I'm not suggesting that we sit on our hands, either," he told T'Pol. "But I agree with Malcolm. We shouldn't risk any personnel until we know there's something over there worth risking them for."

"Go on, Trip," Archer said. "What do you have in mind?"

"Simple," said Trip. "We send a probe. Beam it over. Let it snoop around. If there is anyone alive over there, the probe will find them."

"All our probes are atmospheric ones," T'Pol pointed out.

"I'm aware of that," Trip snapped. "My brains haven't become completely addled yet, you know."

"Commander," Archer said, warningly.

"Sorry, sir. Subcommander. But we can modify one easily. Add a camera, some wheels, remote control, and we're off to the races."

"How long?"

"To modify it? Couple of hours. Less if I have help."

"Go ahead, then, Commander. Take whoever and whatever you need to get the job done. As far as I'm concerned, this takes priority."

"Yes, sir. Malcolm? I could use your help."

"Of course, Commander."

"I will begin the remote control program," T'Pol said formally.

"Thank you, Subcommander," Trip replied, equally formal. "You can bring it down to Engineering when you're done."

T'Pol bowed her head slightly. "Very well."

*****

"Hand me that spanner, will you, Mal?"

"Sure. Here you go."

"Thanks." Trip was silent for a moment, concentrating on adjusting the hydraulics he had installed on the axles supporting the probe's new wheels.

He sat back, grunted. "Well, it sure as hell won't win any beauty contests."

Trip's assessment was correct. The probe looked like a violent collision between a wagon and a small rocket. A camera sat, precariously balanced on its nose, while the ungainly remote control unit was welded to the back. A large sensor array in the middle, comprised of a number of spiky antennae, resembled a web spun by a mentally defective spider.

"I have to agree," Reed said with a smile. "But if it works, then its looks won't matter." He looked sideways at Trip. "This must be strange for you."

Trip arched an eyebrow at him. "How so?"

"Well, I mean — those are Tasumi over there. And considering what happened to you..." He sighed. "You know."

"I sure do."

"Sorry," Reed said contritely. "Bloody hell. It's so hard."

Trip sighed.

"I'm sorry," Reed repeated. "I just don't know what to say to you."

"Go ahead and say it, Mal. It's only a word. Rape. I was raped. There. Easy. See?"

"It's not easy," Reed said. "What happened to you was a crime! I can't just brush it off!"

Trip looked at him. "What do you want me to say?" he demanded angrily. "That's it's hard for me? Okay, it is. That I can still see people looking at me and then look away? 'Cause they do. That sometimes, I feel like I'll never be clean again? I still do — and it happened months ago. That I still have nightmares?"

Reed was silent. Trip sighed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't take it out on you."

Reed smiled. "If not me, then who?"

Trip smiled in return. "Thanks," he said, then sobered. "I've been talking to Phlox until I'm blue in the face, and there are days when I feel it hasn't done me a damn bit of good."

"You're back to work," Reed pointed out. "You're keeping busy with all your projects during off-hours, too. And then --"

"And then what?"

Reed actually blushed very slightly. "Never mind."

Trip peered at him curiously. "What?" When Reed did not answer, he added, "Come on, Mal. I've already admitted that I've been raped. What could be worse than that?"

"Well, you and the Captain ..." Reed looked up, expecting to see Trip glaring at him for treading on such personal territory. Instead, he found the engineer was calmly looking back at him.

"Me and Jon. Yeah. There is that, too." He smiled slightly. "I've never asked you what you think about it."

"It's not really my place to say, is it?"

"Bull. We're friends, aren't we? So who better to offer an opinion?"

Reed did not answer. Instead, he looked at his feet. Trip stared at him in surprise. "You have a problem with it? I have to say, Mal, I would never thought you of all people would disapprove."

"No, no, no," Reed said hastily. "I don't. Not at all."

"You don't sound very convincing," Trip told him.

Reed sighed. "I'm afraid anything I say will affect our friendship." He looked at Trip. "I really don't disapprove. In fact ... oh, bloody hell!"

Trip gaped for a moment, then comprehension dawned. "Oh ... Mal, I'm sorry."

Reed shrugged. "I couldn't compete with the Captain. All those years, all that history you two have ... " He tried to smile. "The best man won, that's all there is to it."

For the first time since he'd met Trip, the engineer was speechless. Finally, he shook his head. "I didn't have a goddamned clue," he said softly. "I must be as thick as a brick." He sighed. "I'm sorry. Really, Mal."

"Don't be."

Trip smiled slightly. "I'm flattered, you know. But now I understand why you've been so flustered every time you're around us. And here I thought it was just Jon's rank that had you uncomfortable."

"Well, it has been difficult for me. But you know," Reed added thoughtfully, "it's actually kind of a relief to tell you. Now that you know, maybe I'll be able to get over it. Move on."

"Hey," said Trip, "I hope that 'moving on' doesn't mean moving on past our friendship. I'd hate to lose that."

Reed smiled. "So would I."

Trip sighed in relief. "Good." He extended his hand. "Friends?"

Reed took it. "Friends." He smiled again. "And if you and the Captain ever -- "

Trip grinned. "I'll keep your offer in mind. But don't hold your breath, okay?"

Reed grinned back, put his other hand over Trip's. "Thanks."

They smiled at each other. A discreet cough caused both to jump. They looked over to see Subcommander T'Pol's even gaze upon them.

"Excuse me," she said calmly, "Am I interrupting something?"

*****

"That should do it," Trip said. "We'll make a few trial runs just to be sure, but I think this baby is ready to go."

"I agree," T'Pol said. "And I congratulate you on finding a logical solution to a difficult problem. Especially considering —"

Trip sighed. "Not you, too."

"Commander?"

"You going to remind me of what I already know?"

"Which is?"

"That I went through hell on Tasumi and it must be difficult for me to deal with this," Trip recited in a sing-song voice. He looked at her, and his voice returned to normal. "Believe me, Subcommander, I'm well aware of all of that."

One cool eyebrow was raised. "Indeed."

"You bet your ass indeed."

Her eyebrow went up again, but she did not respond directly. Instead, she fixed him with an even gaze. "Commander. May I ask you a question?"

"Oh, why the hell not? You and everybody else."

"You sound irritable."

"Well, good. 'Cause I am. Mind you, I don't expect you of all people to understand why. But this whole situation — it's brought up a lot of memories I would just rather not deal with."

"Precisely. Why?"

"What?"

"To specify — you remember the course of action I suggested?" At his nod, she continued. "Then I am at a loss as to understand why you have not taken my offer."

He looked at her, considering. "I thought about it. A lot. And I really do appreciate the offer. But somehow — it just didn't seem right. I know that's not logical, but no one's ever accused me of being overly logical."

"Indeed," she said dryly.

"That sounded like a shot," he accused.

"I was merely agreeing with your statement."

"Yeah, right." He sighed. "But that's the God's honest truth, Subcommander. I just didn't feel right about it. Still don't."

"Even in this situation?"

"Especially in this situation."

She raised her brow again. "I doubt that I will ever understand you, Commander."

"Join the crowd." He grinned. "I wouldn't worry about it too much. I don't understand myself most times, so why should you?"

*****

Silence on the bridge.

The pictures being broadcast from the Tasumi ship were gruesome, to say the least. Archer sat in the centre chair, working hard to keep his face expressionless. Hoshi and Travis both looked shell-shocked. T'Pol appeared intent on taking other readings off of her console, but Archer suspected that this was merely a convenient ruse in order to avoid looking at those disturbing images on-screen. Even such battle-hardened veterans as Phlox and Reed looked stunned, and in Reed's case, slightly ill.

The only person on the bridge not reacting was Trip. The engineer was standing near his station, looking intently at the floor, his expression as smooth and blank as a doll's face. It was frighteningly similar to the one he wore when Archer first saw him on Tasumi, and to Archer, this was almost as disturbing as the images he was being forced to watch.

"Is that it?" he finally asked.

"Yes," said T'Pol quietly.

"Doctor?"

"Obviously, there are no survivors." Phlox's normally cheerful sing-song was somber; a funeral dirge for those aboard the doomed ship.

"And the ship itself."

"Infected," Phlox said grimly. "The virus is still present and active on the ship's surfaces. The readings show saturation levels. Obviously, this pathogen is extremely hardy."

"A plague ship," Archer said grimly. "There's only one thing to do, then."

"Aye, sir," Reed replied, equally grim. "Targeting."

"External view," Archer ordered.

They watched in silence as the torpedoes streaked towards the dead ship; watched their impact; watched the engines bloom in an explosion; watched as the plasma ignited the internal atmosphere, searing the hull; watched the ship turned funeral pyre burn and disintegrate until nothing was left.

Archer finally broke the silence.

"Hoshi, notify Fleet and the Vulcan High Command. Send copies of the relevant log entries, and my recommendation that Commander Tucker's method be used when encountering any Tasumi ships."

"Aye, sir."

Archer beckoned to Phlox. The doctor made his way down to the centre chair, held a whispered conversation with the Captain. He nodded, then silently exited the bridge.

"Commander," Archer said to Trip.

"Sir?"

"I would like you to compose a report regarding the modifications you made to our probe. I would imagine that Fleet — and the Vulcans — will want all the details."

"Yes, sir. I'll start right now."

He watched as Trip left the bridge. Once the engineer was gone, he turned back to the now-empty viewscreen.

"Travis."

"Sir?"

"Let's get the hell out of here."


	25. Twenty-Five

Archer bolted upright, heart hammering, and turned on the light. Beside him, Trip, also awake, was shaking violently. It was Trip's scream that had woken Archer.

Trip sat up, swung his legs over the side of the bed and then simply crouched there, still shivering.

Archer came around and sat beside him. "Jesus, Trip. Are you all right?"

Trip ran a trembling hand through his hair, but did not reply. Archer put his arm around him, noting unhappily as he did so that Trip's shoulders were wooden with tension. "Must have been one hell of a bad dream."

Trip glanced at him. "The worst I've had yet."

_And that's saying something_ , Archer thought. Aloud, he said carefully, "About being punished?"

Trip nodded. His worst nightmares always circled back to that dreadful event. He often dreamed of being aboard _Enterprise_ , of entering the Bridge or the Mess, only to find that stage and frame, along with the crew as an avid audience, waiting for him.

Or sometimes, he dreamed of the punishment itself, but instead of the Tasumi audience in front of him, it was taking place in front of one of the book club meetings. T'Pol, presiding, would ignore his struggles. When he cried out, begging her for help, she would pause in her discussion, fix him with that cool stare, and tell him he was off-topic.

He shivered. "What else do I dream about?"

> _Trip is bound to the frame. Again. And again, he looks out over the audience. There is no help to be found there; only laughter and applause for his pain and abasement. He hears footsteps and knows what is about to happen next. He struggles, trying to escape, but to no avail. He feels the hot, greedy hands on his hips, and is savagely taken. The audience cheers, and when his attacker begins to roughly manhandle him, they roar their approval._
> 
> _He closes his eyes, trying to endure the pain and humiliation, and the room suddenly falls silent. He opens his eyes again to discover he is now facing a room full of the dead, all rotting, their blank, lifeless eyes staring at him in mute reproach._
> 
> _His rapist falls against him, and he looks down in disgust and dismay to see that the hands clutching him now belong to a dead man. Looking over his shoulder, he sees the vacant stare of a decaying corpse meeting his own terrified gaze._
> 
> _He cries out in fear and disgust, and tries to shake the loathsome burden off of him. Its jaw falls open, and he hears its croaking voice tell him, "You stay with us, beautiful". It leans forward to kiss him, and he screams in horror and despair._

"And then I woke up."

"That's it," Archer said crisply. "You're off-duty until further notice."

"What?!"

"You heard me."

To Archer's astonishment, Trip's eyes darkened with fury, and he leaped to his feet. "You son of a bitch!"

Archer was bewildered. "Trip? What the hell?"

"You know damned well! You bastard!"

Archer rose to his feet. "What is wrong with you?" And ducked, as Trip advanced and swung on him. Quickly, he grabbed the younger man by the wrists, and held him fast. Trip cursed and struggled frantically, but Archer's grip was unyielding. He waited until Trip's struggles ceased and the engineer stood, head bowed, sides heaving.

"Finished?" Archer asked quietly.

Panting, Trip raised his head, glowered at him.

"Well? I can stand here all night if I have to. You want to do that?"

Angrily, Trip shook his head. Slowly, Archer released him. "Now — do you want to tell me why I shouldn't toss you in the brig?"

"Why not — you're already punishing me!"

Archer was dumbfounded. "Whoa, whoa, whoa— wait a minute. Punishing you? How am I punishing you?"

"What do you call relieving me of duty? A goddamned prize?"

"Trip — that's not what I'm doing. It's not a punishment." He gave the younger man a long, appraising stare. "And you know it, too. So what's this really all about?"

Trip looked away.

"Trip? I think I deserve an answer."

"You want an answer? All right! Sometimes I feel like I'm suffocating! Between you and Phlox, I can't make a move without one of you breathing down my neck! It's like I'm a goddamned prisoner! Always checking up on me, always looking over my shoulder, always second-guessing me! You set Phlox on me today, didn't you? Hell, he must have ran all the way to Engineering, because he was waiting for me when I got off the lift! I'm sick of it! I'm not a kid anymore, but the way you treat me, you'd never know it!"

_Even though you throw temper tantrums like one_ , Archer thought irritably. "You think I'm doing this because I like it? You think it's fun, following you around the ship? Believe me, it would be a damned relief not to! Then I could concentrate on running this ship instead of holding your hand all the time!"

Trip blanched.

_Oh, damn it!_ Archer thought. Aloud, he said, "Trip. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

Trip, his anger gone as suddenly as it had appeared, sighed. His shoulders slumped. "So am I, Jon. I don't know what got into me."

Archer took his hand. "I think we need to talk, okay?" He led Trip over to the couch, and they sat down. He put an arm around the engineer's shoulders. "You may not know what's gotten into you, but I think I do."

Trip quirked a brow at him. "You do?"

Archer nodded. "You're an independent cuss, and it must be hard, having to put up with me. Frustrating. And I don't make it easy, do I?" Trip looked at him, and Archer smiled. "You've called me a bossy son of a bitch, and you're right. I am."

"You're not that bad," Trip said quietly.

Archer laughed. "Don't start lying to me, Trip. You know I am. And I know I am, too. I'm used to being in charge, and I guess I put too much of that into our off-duty relationship. God knows why you put up with it."

Trip managed a faint smile. "There are some benefits, you know."

Archer gave his shoulder a squeeze. "Thanks." He added, very seriously, "You do know that I would never want you to feel that I'm forcing you to do anything against your will, right?"

Trip nodded. Archer sighed. "I'm way too over-protective. I know that. But Trip — when you went missing, and I realized how much you meant to me ... " He shook his head. "I never want to go through that again. Ever. So now I tend to over-react. And I know that frustrates you. I don't want to take your freedom away. But I'm afraid of losing you again." He smiled ruefully. "I hate to admit this, but there have been times when I've wanted to lock you into our quarters, and keep you here. That way, I'll know where you are, and know that you're safe. Protected."

Trip looked at his hands. "Do I really mean that much to you?"

"You know you do, you idiot. But that's no excuse for my behaviour I'll try and dial it back."

Trip nodded. "I'd appreciate it. Thanks."

"And you'll take things easy?"

Trip sighed. "I'll try." He looked at Archer. "Does this mean that I'm still off-duty?"

"Trip —" Archer began.

"-- Jon, please. If I sit here staring at the walls, I swear I'll go right out of my mind."

"Trip, you already work far too hard as is. And considering everything you've been through..."

"Tell me about it," Trip said with heavy irony. He scrubbed his face with a hand. "But Jon — I'm so sick and tired of all of this. The whole thing — it's like a goddamned ball and chain attached to my ankle. I can't seem to get away, no matter what I try to do. And God — I would give just about anything if I could."

Archer drew him close. "I know."

"Yeah, I know you do."

"But you've come a long way. You realize that, right?"

"Have I? Can't say as I feel like it."

"You have. Trip — when I brought you home from Tasumi, don't you remember how you were? I do. You were a basket case. Wouldn't talk, wouldn't eat, slept 18 hours a day, had nightmares two, three times a night. Now look at you. You're mad because you can't work. I don't know about you, but I'd call that progress."

"Well," Trip said grudgingly, "when you put it that way..."

"I do." Archer gave him a hug. "How about a compromise?"

"Which would be?"

"Light duty for the next few days."

Trip sighed. "Light duty," he repeated.

"You can get some rest. Give you a chance to catch up on all your paperwork. All those reports. Maybe," Archer coaxed, "you can even give me a synopsis of one of them? Maybe two?" He waggled his brows suggestively, and despite himself, Trip laughed.

"Maybe," he said.

Archer laughed as well. "Agreed?"

Trip exhaled. "Agreed." He laid his head on Archer's shoulder. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

"So am I," Archer told him, lightly stroking the side of his neck. "Just do me a favour, okay?"

"Sure. What?"

"The next time I piss you off, will you tell me right away? Instead of brooding about it and waiting and then blowing your stack?"

"Noted," Trip said ruefully. "Okay, that's a deal." He looked at Archer.

"Does this mean we've kissed and made up?"

"Well, we've made up, I guess."

"Don't you want to do things right? I mean, you are a stickler for details, you know."

"I didn't think you'd be in the mood."

"Well," Trip drawled, "I'm willing to be persuaded. If you think you can, that is," he added mischievously.

"Are you challenging me, Mister?"

"Why? You not up to it?"

"Well, now you've done it," Archer told him. He took Trip's chin in his hand, leaned forward and kissed him thoroughly. Trip shifted slightly, and Archer broke off the kiss. "How's that?"

Trip pretended to think. "Oh, I don't know." He shook his head. "Nope. I don't think that's going to do it. Sorry."

"Hmmm," Archer said. "You are a stubborn S.O.B. tonight, aren't you?"

"So? What're you going to do about it?"

"Guess I'll have to try harder."

Trip grinned. "I was hoping you'd say that." He put his arms around Archer and kissed him.

"Now who's convincing who?"

"Shut up."

Archer complied, kissing Trip hard and deep. Trip made a faint noise, and broke off the kiss. "Wow," he said, somewhat breathlessly.

"Changed your mind, have you?"

"Chalk it up to your powers of persuasion, you silver-tongued devil, you."

Archer laughed, kissed him again. Trip moaned, deep in his throat, and shifted again.

_God, he is so sensual_ , Archer thought abstractedly. He wondered sometimes what it would be like when Trip fully recuperated, and whether he would be able to keep up with him when he did. Trip was returning his kiss with the usual enthusiasm he put into everything he did, and Archer's head was starting to spin as a result.

Archer broke off the kiss, began to undo Trip's pyjama top. Quickly, he pulled it off, pushed the younger man down onto the couch, and followed him down. He bent his head, began sucking greedily on Trip's nipples; first one, then the other.

Trip removed Jon's top, ran his hands up and down his Captain's back. He arched his back as Jon continued his attentions, tonguing him, lightly running his hands along Trip's sides in the way Jon knew he liked. He lifted his hips, and Jon, taking the cue, removed his pyjama bottoms, then slipped his hand under the waistband of Trip's briefs and began doing things to him, things that made Trip groan in response.

"Think you're in the mood now?" Jon asked, teasing him.

For an answer he reached, pulled Jon to him and kissed him. But Jon was intent on extracting a gentle revenge for Trip's earlier teasing. His hand continued to move, and Trip wriggled in response. "You didn't answer me," his lover told him with mock severity.

"If I answer, are you going to take your hand away?"

"I will if you don't, how's that?"

"I don't think I'd like that one damn bit."

"So. Answer my question, then."

"Isn't it obvious?"

"I want verbal confirmation, Mr. Tucker."

Trip kissed him again. "Consider it confirmed, Mr. Archer."

"Good," Archer said softly. He removed Trip's briefs, then allowed Trip to return the favour They stretched out on the couch, belly to belly, and arms and legs entwined in a happy, highly-charged tangle.

Trip closed his eyes, revelling in the sensation of Jon so close to him, the touch of Jon's hands as they explored him, the feeling of Jon's lips travelling over him, leaving trails of pleasure in their wake. Jon began stroking his back below the waist, making small circles with just his fingertips. His lover was in the process of seeking out and cataloguing all of Trip's "hot spots" as he referred to them, and then to use that knowledge to drive Trip wild. It was working. Trip moaned, deep in his throat. Wanting more contact, he pressed himself up against Jon, kissed him passionately. His lover groaned in delight.

"You really do," he told Trip huskily.

Trip was puzzled. "Jon?"

"Sweet," Jon added.

Still not understanding, Trip raised his brows. "Want to run that by me again?"

"You. You really do taste sweet." He kissed Trip again, who broke off the kiss to ask, somewhat breathlessly, "I do?"

For an answer, he was kissed again, while Jon's hands ran lightly up and down him. He moaned again.

Jon abruptly stopped. What the hell? "Jon?" Trip asked.

Jon stood, and pulled Trip to his feet as well. "Come on," he said. "I want you somewhere more comfortable. That way, I can really go to work on you."

"That was just a warm-up?" Trip panted.

"You ain't seen nothing yet," Jon promised.

He led Trip back to their bed, then gently pushed him onto the mattress. Archer knelt beside the bed, leaned over and kissed Trip. Then slowly and with great deliberation, he began to nibble on Trip's neck, then his shoulders, and then his nipples. He kept his attentions slow, very slow. Trip moaned, shifted.

"Lie still," Archer ordered.

Trip groaned. "Jon ..."

"You heard me," Archer said. "Lie still. Or," he added, "I'll stop."

"I thought you promised not to be so damn bossy."

"Want to stop and discuss it?" And he ran a light hand down Trip's belly.

Trip groaned. "Maybe later," he managed.

Archer smiled. Trip was right. He _was_ a bossy son of a bitch. If he were to be honest with himself, he had to admit that he enjoyed taking charge like this. He realized, with a touch of rue, that his comments to Lady Vala weren't the lies he initially thought they were. He did enjoy playing with Trip, drawing out his pleasure, making the younger man wait, forcing patience upon him.

Using just his fingertips, he trailed his hand down Trip's stomach, then across his groin, lightly touching his lover's erect sex, then down his thighs. Trip whimpered, deep in his throat.

Archer leaned forward, kissed Trip, while his hands continued to wander over the slim form that lay under his hands, shivering with delight.

"Feels good?" Archer whispered.

"Yes," Trip whispered back.

He kissed Trip again. "Good." Another kiss. "I want to take care of you."

And another kiss. "Make you feel good." He ran his hands down Trip's sides. "Make you happy."

At this, Trip arched his back and cried out softly. As always, the sound of his lover's cries set the blood pounding in Archer's head.

He climbed onto the bed, lay beside Trip, began to caress him again, and was rewarded with more of those wonderful sounds. Trip wrapped himself around his lover, kissed him and ran his hands along the older man's back. Now it was Archer's turn to moan.

"How's that?" Trip asked with an impudent grin. He wriggled against Archer, causing him to groan.

"Brat," Archer said hoarsely.

Trip continued those maddening movements. "Tell me something I don't already know."

"You're playing with dynamite," Archer warned him.

Trip ran his hands along Jon's back and heard his lover's sharp intake of breath. "Oh," he said mischievously, "I already knew that." He blew in Jon's ear, then began to nuzzle his neck. Now it was Jon's turn to shiver. "Matter of fact, I do believe I lit that fuse about five minutes ago." And he ran his tongue along Jon's neck, along his chest, and then began to work on Jon's nipples.

Jon growled, deep in his throat and pounced, pushing Trip deep into the mattress. He kissed him, hard. "I warned you," he growled again, pinning the younger man under him.

Trip smiled up at him. "I'm willing to take my chances."

He closed his eyes as Jon ran his hands along him. His lover's touch was no longer light and teasing; it was passionate, urgent.

Then Jon's weight atop him was gone. He opened his eyes, saw Jon was preparing himself with the lube. His lover looked at him, his gaze feral and intense.

With one smooth movement, Jon took him by the hips, lifted him. Trip wrapped his legs around Jon's waist, arched himself upwards, and waited, heart beating rapidly.

Archer entered Trip, then paused for a moment to enjoy the sensation of Trip—all of Trip—wrapped about him.

"Jon," his lover moaned. "Please." Trip wriggled his hips, causing both of them to moan. "Don't tease me, Jon."

Archer smiled. He couldn't resist Trip when he asked for anything, could he? And this was no exception. He began to thrust into the younger man, starting with a slow, even rhythm.

Trip groaned as he was being pleasured internally. His groans turned into cries when Jon took his sex in hand, began pumping him in time to his thrusts.

Trip's hands clenched the sheets, and he began to make frantic sounds, deep in his throat, while his head turned helplessly from side to side.

Seeing Trip like this, caught fast in the grip of the pleasure he was giving him only increased Archer's own excitement, and his thrusts became harder and faster as a result.

"Jon," Trip cried out helplessly, "Jon —"

"More?" Archer panted.

"Oh, God —Jon ..."

Archer decided to take that as a "yes", and he happily obliged. Trip whined and closed his eyes. A moment later, he climaxed noisily. Archer's own orgasm hit a moment later, and he joined Trip in crying out.

Slowly, reluctantly, he withdrew, and collapsed beside Trip, his heart hammering.

He heard a rustle, opened his eyes, and saw Trip reaching for the tissues they kept by the bed.

"Let me," He whispered, took them out of the younger man's hand and gently wiped his lover off, then took him in his arms.

Trip sighed in contentment, wrapped his arms around Archer and kissed him. "Now that," he said drowsily, nuzzling Archer's neck, "is what I call making up."


	26. Twenty-Six

_It really was an ungainly thing_ , Archer thought, staring out his ready room window. The almost-completed station hung there, looking like something put together by a giant child with bad hand-eye co-ordination. Still, its looks weren't really important, were they? The doctors and scientists who would be living and working aboard it wouldn't be going out for any scenic drives. And as for the poor devils living down on the planet, it was going to be highly unlikely they'd be getting a look at it, either.

By natural association, he gaze travelled across the spiky lattice work of the medical research station and onto the planet below.

Tasumi.

Again.

"I'm sorry, Jon," Forrest said again for what must have been the tenth time. "I know this is going to be difficult."

"Difficult? That's putting it mildly, Admiral. I still don't understand why _Enterprise_ needs to be involved in the first place."

"Because Earth Gov feels it is necessary."

"And why is that?"

Forrest sighed. "The short answer? The Klingon Empire. According to the Vulcans, they've been aggressively expanding their territory."

"And we don't want them swooping in and gobbling up what's left of Tasumi."

"Exactly."

"So Earth and the Vulcans are going to play Good Samaritan. And presumably the Tasumi —what's left of them — will be so grateful that they'll let us — or the Vulcans — run things."

Forrest sighed. "Somewhat cynical — but accurate."

"Can't you send someone else?"

" _Enterprise_ is the most well-known of all earth vessels. Sending her to Tasumi sends a message to all the governments in the sector. Including the Klingons. Sorry, Jon," Forrest repeated. "You'll be working with the Vulcans, on both design and construction of the facility. Needless to say, speed is of the essence."

"Needless to say," Archer repeated. "I still think it would make more sense to send the Starfleet Corps of Engineers out here, not an exploration ship."

"Not really. You already have the best engineer in the fleet aboard Enterprise."

Archer stared. "You have got to be kidding. You're counting on Trip to do this? Don't you think that's asking too much of the man? Hasn't he been through enough already?"

Forrest looked pained. "It wasn't my decision to make, Jon. Commander Tucker's expertise in sub-orbital design and construction is well-known. And —"

"-- And he'd better get a medal for this," Archer growled. "I'm not joking, Admiral. This is really above and beyond the call of duty."

Forrest looked even more pained, if that was possible. "Will he be able to handle it?"

"I don't know," Archer snapped. "But I hope for both Fleet's and EarthGov's sake, he is. Otherwise, I promise you, Admiral, there will be hell to pay. And I'll be the one collecting that debt."

That conversation had been three weeks ago. So far, Trip's behaviour had been faultless: cool, composed and professional. He gave no sign that he was working above the planet where he had been put through a personal hell of the most appalling variety. Archer suspected, however, that he was throwing himself into the work as a way to avoid facing the memories of his experiences on Tasumi. Off-duty, he was quiet and composed, but remote. Archer, knowing the depth of his trauma, was patient with him. He did not push Trip, but simply let his lover know that he was there for him. Nor did he make any intimate demands on the engineer. Trip was too tired, for the most part, and also, Archer knew that this was simply not the time to indulge in lovemaking.

He sighed, leaned back in his chair. He'd better check on Trip; he hadn't been in the Mess at lunch and Archer doubted he'd had anything to eat since breakfast. Phlox would wring the young man's neck if he didn't eat, and would also have a few choice words for the Captain as well. "Archer to Tucker."

No response.

He tried again. Still no response. "Archer to Engineering."

Trip's second-in-command answered. "Hess here."

"Is Commander Tucker in Engineering, Lieutenant?"

"No, sir. He's not over with the construction crew, either."

As that was going to be Archer's next question, all he said was, "Very well, Lieutenant. Thank you."

He was becoming a little worried now. He'd check their quarters; Trip was pretty good about leaving him messages as to his whereabouts. He rose, exited his ready room and bridge, nodding absently to Hoshi as he did so.

He opened the door to their quarters, stepped through, closed the door behind him, looked around. And groaned.

Trip was slumped at his desk, head on its surface.

He was sound asleep.

_Damn!_ He crossed over to the younger man, took him gently by the shoulder.

"Hey."

Trip woke with a start. He looked blearily at Archer. "Wha —?"

Archer helped him to his feet. "Come on." He led the engineer over to their bed. "Let's get you undressed."

Trip protested groggily. "I can't. I've got too much to do."

Archer pushed him onto the bed, removed his boots. "Whatever it is, it can wait."

"But —"

"Not tonight." Archer's voice was mild, but firm. He unzipped Trip's uniform, pulled it off of him. His T-shirt and underwear followed in quick succession. "Get in bed."

Trip looked apprehensive. "Am I going to catch hell?"

"Bed."

Trip obeyed. He looked up at Archer. "I don't set the deadlines, you know. But I'm the one who has to live with them."

Archer raised a brow at this, then went over to Trip's computer, stood and read the screen. He came back, thunderclouds on his brow. His expression softened when he saw Trip looking up at him. He bent, kissed the younger man on the forehead. "Go to sleep. You're not going to catch hell." He stood up. "But _someone_ is."

***** 

Captain Soltisk folded his hands, looked out from the viewscreen at Archer. "I should have expected this."

"Oh?" Archer asked.

"Indeed. Humans are not as disciplined as Vulcans. Apparently, your Chief Engineer is no exception."

"Bull."

"Captain, I assure you, I am not casting aspersions on your crewman. Merely making an observation."

"Well, let me make one of my own. I've just checked his work logs. Commander Tucker has been working 16 to 20 hour days for the last 2 1/2 weeks, trying to keep up with the deadlines set. Deadlines you set."

"Those deadlines —"

"-- are not reasonable."

"Vulcans would have no problem meeting them."

"True. Except Commander Tucker is not a Vulcan. Nor are any of _Enterprise's_ engineering crew. I'm surprised you didn't notice that small fact."

"Human weaknesses —"

"Ah," Archer interrupted. "So it's your position that Commander Tucker is not fit enough to work with you? I tend to agree. Therefore, he is off the project. Now. I'm sure you'll find someone to replace him from your own crew. Thank you, Captain Soltisk." And he reached over, preparing to end the communication.

"Wait —" said Soltisk. He now looked like his uniform was slightly too tight.

"Yes?" Archer asked pleasantly.

"Commander Tucker was working on some design modifications for the power relays."

"Oh, yes?" Archer asked, still pleasant.

"Without those modifications, we will have difficulty finishing the station on time. And time is of the essence. I'm sure you will agree with that."

Archer did not reply.

"Captain," Soltisk said. "Scientists and medical officers are aboard this vessel waiting, even as we speak, to board this station and begin working on finding a cure for the Tasumi virus."

"I am aware of this. And I have no desire to hinder that." Soltisk looked relieved. But his relief was short-lived. "However," and Archer raised his hand, pointed it at the Vulcan, "I have to also think about the health and well-being of my crew."

"What does that mean?"

"It means," Archer said politely, "that if you want to impose the kind of deadlines that only a Vulcan crew could handle, then by all means do so. And handle them yourself."

"Captain?"

"From now on, _Enterprise's_ crew will work only regular shifts."

"Very well. And Commander Tucker?"

_Not such a weakling after all, is he? Especially where it counts—in brainpower._ Aloud, he said, still polite, "I will permit him to continue on this project. Working on the designs only. No hands-on work. And I'll be monitoring his hours. Closely. I hope that's understood."

Soltisk now looked as if his uniform was now about five sizes too tight.

"Well?" Archer asked cordially.

"Very well," the Vulcan finally said.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Captain."

*****

Trip blinked, then sat up, grimacing as he did so. His back was killing him. Too many hours, hunched over a computer screen, combined with the actual labour involved in working on the construction of the station had done a real number on his back. He sighed. Maybe a hot shower would help.

Slowly, he climbed out of bed, made his way to the shower. He emerged a little while later, clad in a towel. His back still hurt, but at least it was bearable now. He crossed over to the bed. Better change the sheets.

He'd just finished the sheets and was starting on the pillowcases, when: "Can't you read?"

He started, then turned to find an angry Archer standing at the foot of the bed, hands on hips.

"What?"

"You heard me."

"What are you on about?"

"Don't play dumb with me. I'm not in the mood."

"I'm not playing dumb. What are you talking about?"

"My orders."

"What orders?"

"I left them right there," Archer said, pointing to his pillow. Seeing Trip's honest confusion, he frowned, and walked around the bed. Spotting something half-hidden under the bed, he stooped and picked it up. "Porthos," he said resignedly. He held up a padd, and Trip could see the faint scratches on its surface; scratches made by a certain canine's teeth. "Sorry, Trip," Archer said apologetically. "Guess Porthos decided this belonged to him."

He handed the padd to Trip, who read its brief message: _Stay in bed_. "I can't," he protested. "I have too much to do."

"That's changed," Archer told him. "I had a little chat with Captain Soltisk."

"Uh-oh."

"Don't worry. You'll still be working on the design aspects of the station."

Trip looked at him. "I'm waiting for the 'but'."

"But," Archer supplied, "design only. The Vulcans will be handling the rest of the construction. They want to set the deadlines — fine. Then they can do the work necessary to meet them." He pulled the covers back. "Now. In bed, if you please."

Suppressing a sigh, Trip climbed into bed, wincing as his back protested.

"What's wrong?"

Trip sighed. There was no sense denying anything was wrong; Jon had an eagle eye when it came to this sort of thing. "My back," he admitted.

Jon frowned at this, then went to the wall comm. Trip groaned. "Please — Jon. Don't make a fuss."

His lover silenced him with a look. Trip sighed again. When Jon was like this, it was simply best to go with the flow. When Jon was in protective Papa Bear mode, he was not inclined to brook much in the way of protest.

Jon finished his call to Phlox, came over and looked at Trip. "I don't suppose you've eaten, have you?"

"How could I? I just got up," Trip said irritably.

The stern look on Jon's face was replaced by a rueful smile. "Sorry. Again."

He went to the fridge, returned with a protein shake, sat on the bedside and handed it to Trip. "Drink up."

Trip obeyed. "You going to keep me in bed all day?"

Jon took the empty glass from him, leaned forward and gave him a light kiss. "Depends on what Phlox says."

Trip exhaled. Before he could say anything, the door sounded. Jon went to the door, opened it, and Phlox stepped in.

"Ah, Commander," he said with his usual good cheer. "You've been misbehaving again, haven't you?"

*****

"Where were you last night?"

Trip looked over at Reed. "What?"

"Well, you were talking about that movie all last week. I thought for certain you'd want to see it. I'm surprised you weren't there, that's all."

"Something came up," Trip said absently. "I couldn't make it."

"Pity."

Trip shrugged. "I can watch it anytime."

"But you always say, there's something about seeing it on the big screen."

"Forget it, will you?" Trip sounded slightly irritable. "It's no big deal."

Reed shrugged, and followed Trip as he left the bridge.

Sitting in the centre chair, Archer pinched the bridge of his nose. Damn! He'd done it again, hadn't he? Trip had been talking about that movie for days before Movie Night. And he'd forgotten. So when Phlox had administered the mix of muscle relaxants and painkillers, he hadn't said anything about it. Trip had slept the clock round. And missed his movie as a result. He should have remembered, and let Phlox know, so the doctor could have adjusted the strength of the mix accordingly. A night at the movies would have done Trip a world of good. Instead, he'd managed to screw things up for his lover. Again.

It was a wonder that Trip didn't tell him to go to hell. But Trip was not only tolerant, but loyal as well. He'd made it sound, when talking to Reed, that it had been Trip's own decision not to go, and also that it was not a big deal to begin with, when the exact opposite was true.

Well, he'd messed up. So now, he'd have to figure out a way to make it up to Trip.

*****

"Hey."

"Hey yourself." But Trip's response was absent; he was standing, staring out the window, looking at the now-completed station, and the planet beyond.

Archer came up behind him. "It's butt-ugly, you know."

"That's my design," Trip replied.

"I know. Like I said, it's butt-ugly."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah." He slipped his arms around Trip's waist. "And you did one hell of a job."

"Thanks." But Trip's tone told Archer that the younger man had other things on his mind.

"Thinking long thoughts?" Archer asked gently.

Trip nodded. "I was just looking at it."

"It?"

"Tasumi."

"Oh." He pulled Trip close to him. "What about it?"

"Looks nice from up here." Trip sighed. "You'd never know."

"No," Archer agreed quietly. "No, you wouldn't."

Trip leaned into his embrace. "I was just wondering."

"Wondering what?"

"Why me? I mean, I can't help but ask why? What did I ever do to deserve it?"

"Nothing," Archer said decidedly. "You really don't believe you did something wrong and everything that happened on Tasumi is some sort of punishment, do you?"

"No, I guess not. But I still wonder. Why did it happen? Why did I have to go through it?"

"I don't know," Archer told him. "I wish I could tell you that there's some grand plan behind it all, and that something good will come of it. But I can't. I don't know why. All I can say is that if there is anyone is this whole damn universe who didn't deserve to go through it, it's you." He kissed Trip on the cheek.

"Thanks." He looked at Archer. "I'll be damned glad when we leave here, that's for sure."

"Then you can start being glad."

"Really?"

Archer nodded. "The last of the supplies and personnel are aboard, and our support crew are coming back. I gave orders to break orbit as soon as they were aboard. That should be just about —" The station and planet below began to slide across their field of view. "Now," Archer finished.

They watched the planet shrink and finally dwindle into just another speck in the sky. Those specks turned to streaks as the ship jumped to warp.

Trip turned to Archer. "Thank God," he said. "If I never see that place again, it'll be too soon."

*****

"Hey."

"Hey yourself."

"Trip?"

The engineer stopped on his way to the shower. "Yeah?"

"You doing anything tonight?"

"Hadn't planned on it. Why?"

"Just curious."

When no more information was forthcoming, Trip shrugged and headed into the bathroom.

He emerged a little while later in his off-duty clothes, vigorously towelling his blond hair dry. "Ah," he said, flopping down on the couch beside Archer. "That feels better."

"Rough day?"

"No more so than usual."

"How's your back?"

"Better. Phlox gave me a treatment today. You know," he said, grinning, "I never realized your back can make those kind of noises. He cracked it, and I swear I jumped a foot. Felt a lot better, though."

"Good. You seeing him again?"

"In a couple of days. He wants to do acupuncture, too. And he gave me some stretching exercises. And a whole load of advice on posture and all that."

"I'll bet."

"Some of his suggestions," Trip shrugged. "Kind of hard to follow when you're crawling around an access hatch."

"Do your best."

"I'll try."

They sat in companionable silence for a moment. Then Archer asked casually, "No plans tonight?"

Trip raised a quizzical brow. "I told you already, no. Why?"

"Just double-checking."

"You're up to something," Trip accused.

"What makes you think that?" Archer asked, all innocence.

"Because I know you, that's why."

"Don't you trust me?"

"About as far as I could toss the warp core."

"That much, huh?"

"Comforting, isn't it?"

"Brat."

"Tell me something I don't know."

"Okay."

After a moment's silence, Trip raised his brows. "Well?"

"Well, what?"

Trip exhaled. "You really are a bastard."

Archer grinned. "Tell me something I don't know."

*****

"Okay," Trip said patiently. They were standing in front of a cargo bay hatch.

"Cargo bay two. And?"

"You'll see," Archer promised him. "Trust me?"

"About as far as I —"

"Seriously."

"Seriously? With my life."

Archer smiled. "Then close your eyes."

"What?"

"Trip. Please."

Trip gave an exaggerated sigh, but obediently closed his eyes.

"No peeking," Archer warned him.

"I promise," Trip said, in the tone of a nurse humouring a fractious patient.

"No peeking."

"Good." Archer took him by the hand, opened the hatch. "Mind the step," he warned as he guided the engineer through the doorway.

He led a mystified Trip across the cargo bay floor. "Just a little farther," he promised. "Okay. You can open them now."

Trip did so, and discovered two chairs sitting in front of a large screen. He turned to Archer. "What's this?"

"You missed the movie the other night."

"Well, yeah, but —"

"I know how much you were looking forward to it. And between me and Phlox, we made you miss it. So," he gestured at the screen. "A private showing." He took Trip's hand again and led him to the seats. They sat.

Archer reached under his chair, handed Trip a bowl. "Popcorn." He reached again. "Beer." He picked up a remote control, dimmed the lights. "It's a double bill," he told Trip. "Plus a couple of cartoons thrown in." He put his arm around the engineer's shoulders. "Not quite the same as Movie Night, I know."

Trip smiled at him. "Better in some ways, actually."

*****

"Mmm." Trip broke off the kiss. We're supposed to be watching the movie," he pointed out.

"It's the 'B' movie," Archer responded. "And it's also the love scene. Don't you know your basic traditions?"

"Which are?"

"Well, in this case—necking during the love scene."

"Oh. Well, in that case."

"What?"

"Who am I to question tradition?"

"In other words?"

"Carry on."

*****

“The End” flashed across the screen.

Trip stretched. "That was good."

"It was," Archer agreed.

"Does that mean you're starting to appreciate the art of the cinema?"

"No. But I like movies."

Trip laughed. "Fair enough. Think you might start coming to Movie Night, then?"

"Maybe. Definitely if there are more like this."

"Mmm." When they drew apart, Trip suddenly laughed.

"You laughing at my technique, Mister?"

"Well," Trip began, teasing. He grinned. "No, actually, I just realized. This could be considered our first date."

Archer looked at him. "You're right. And we've been sleeping together for months, too."

"What does that say about us, then?"

"That we're both easy?"

"I was going to say 'different'. But easy works, too."

*****

It was late night by the ship's clock as they made their way back to their quarters, holding hands as they walked along. Generally, they preferred not to call attention to their off-duty relationship, so when out in public, both were circumspect in their behaviour But as there was little chance of anyone coming across them now, they were both willing to relax these self-imposed restrictions.

Archer smiled at Trip, who smiled back. The Captain thought, once again, what an attractive smile Trip had. And how glad he was that Trip finally had something to smile about. "Have a good time tonight?" he asked.

Trip smiled again. "Why? Don't I look like I've had a good time?"

"Just checking."

"Well, you know me. I'd holler if I didn't."

Archer stopped, and Trip did so as well. "That's the problem," Archer said. Trip raised an inquiring brow. "I do know you," Archer elaborated. "And the fact is, you don't holler. You put up with a lot of bull from me, and you do it far more gracefully than I would if our positions were reversed."

"Well," Trip pointed out quietly, "I have my reasons."

"I know. I guess tonight was just my way of saying thanks."

Trip looked about to ensure they were alone. Then he leaned forward and kissed his Captain. "You're welcome."


	27. Twenty-Seven

"Been a long day," Trip observed as they entered their quarters. "Look — even Porthos is asleep." The beagle was stretched out on his little bed, oblivious to everything.

"You tired?" Archer asked him.

"Yeah — but good tired, if you know what I mean."

"I do. Ready for bed?"

Trip smiled. "Sounds good." Then to Archer's pleased surprise, he turned, took Archer's face in between his hands and kissed him thoroughly and passionately. Archer felt his breath come a little faster. "I thought you were tired."

"Not too tired to say thanks."

Archer gave him a hungry look. "You really want to say thanks properly?" At Trip's nod, he said, "Then take your clothes off. Now."

Trip smiled again, and began to slowly undo the buttons on his shirt. Never taking his eyes from Archer's face, he deliberately slid his shirt off, dropped it on the floor. Then, with equal slowness and deliberation, his jeans were next. He stood, smiling impishly, clad only in his briefs.

"Everything," Archer said hoarsely. When Trip simply smiled impudently at him, he reached, grabbed the younger man and pulled the briefs off. "Brat," he added before pushing Trip onto their bed.

Trip stretched luxuriously, slowly, teasingly. "And what are you going to do about it?"

Archer began pulling his own clothes off. "Teach you some manners."

"Is that what you're calling it now? Manners?"

"It'll do," Archer growled.

He bent, kissed Trip roughly. His lover responded with equal fervour, and Archer began running his hands along Trip. He was not interested in teasing or finesse; that would be for later. "You'd better say your prayers, brat," he warned the younger man.

Trip grinned. "I'm terrified."

Archer shrugged. "You've been warned."

He reached, began fondling Trip while kissing him. Trip made a small sound, deep in his throat, and shifted. A few strokes and Trip was erect and ready for more.

Archer broke the kiss and prepared himself. "Over," he ordered. Trip obeyed, laying on his side. He moaned when he felt the older man enter him, cried out when Archer began thrusting; powerful, demanding, insistent thrusts. "Go ahead," Archer told him as he continued. He stroked Trip's sex in time with his motions. "These quarters are sound-proofed."

Trip arched his back and cried out again as his climax hit. Archer joined him as his own orgasm burst through him, making his own delight audible.

Slowly, Trip relaxed. As Archer withdrew, he rolled onto his back, looked drowsily up at Archer. "Like I said," he said dreamily, "thanks."

Archer gave him a dangerous smile. "And like I said, brat—say your prayers."

*****

Trip bit his lip to keep from crying out. Jon had not been joking; he was now in the process of extracting a very specific revenge for Trip's earlier impudence. After an all-too-brief rest, Jon had started to caressing him again, ignoring Trip's protests.

His lover's skilled and insistent attentions had soon achieved the desired results. And then Jon began to tease him; bringing him to the brink and then drawing him back down again.

Trip stared at the ceiling. The room was silent, except for the whisper of Jon's hands as they moved across him, and his own ragged breathing.

It took every bit of willpower he had not to make a sound. His silence was part of their game, the point of which was that Jon would do his utmost to compel Trip to, at the very least, make some noise, and to beg for release at the most. Of course, Jon always appeared to win, as eventually Trip could not contain himself. But Trip knew who the real winner was.

He closed his eyes. Jon was bringing him to the edge. Again. This was the fourth time, and Trip knew that he was not going to be able to hold out for much longer. He shifted very slightly.

At this, Jon began using his tongue. Trip clenched his fists. Even his toes were starting to curl, and he knew that the game was going to be over soon.

Jon slowed down. "Shall I stop?"

Trip kept resolutely silent. He kept his eyes on the ceiling, refusing to look at Jon. He closed his eyes as Jon began his attentions. Again. Slowly, very, very slowly, he continued to torment the erect, aching shaft that was begging for mercy and a reprieve from the delicious torture it was being subjected to.

Despite himself, Trip arched his back. Jon ignored this, keeping up the same slow, maddening pace. Finally, Trip had to admit defeat. He moaned softly.

"What was that?"

"Oh God," Trip groaned. "Jon..."

"Ask nicely, brat."

"Bastard!"

"Now is that nice?" Jon asked, slowly stroking him, causing him to tremble and whimper.

"Jon..."

"I'm listening."

Trip arched his back, whimpered again. "Dammit, Jon—I'm asking! Please!"

A few swift strokes was Jon's response. And finally, Trip climaxed. Noisily. He arched his back and screamed his pleasure so loudly that, sound-proofing notwithstanding, he was sure everyone on-board knew what had just happened.

He even woke Porthos up.

Heart thudding wildly, he collapsed back onto the mattress and lay, too worn out to move. He felt Jon clean him off. His lover lay beside him, took him in those powerful arms. Trip found himself being gently, lovingly kissed over and over again.

"Brat," Jon said tenderly, and with great affection.

"Bastard," Trip replied happily, and wrapped his arms around his lover. Jon began to stroke his back, causing him to sigh in contentment.

"I'm going to hate you in the morning," Trip told him. "I'm going to be exhausted." He chuckled. "Going to be? Hell, I am."

Jon nuzzled his neck. "I can't allow that," he replied. "Phlox will kill me. He already thinks you've been working too hard."

"He does, does he?"

"He's not the only one, either."

"Oh yeah? So what are you going to do about it?"

"I'm going to keep you in bed tomorrow."

"I see."

"And if you're really lucky, I'll even let you sleep."


	28. Twenty-Eight

"You got everything, Trip?"

"Yeah."

"So you're ready to go?"

No response. Archer turned to the younger man. "Trip?"

Trip sighed. "Ready? I don't know about that."

Archer put his hands on Trip's shoulders. "If you don't want to go, no problem. We'll stay on-board"

"You'd give up a month's shore leave? Are you crazy?"

"And if you think I'm going to leave you up here alone for a month, you're the crazy one," was Archer's retort.

"Jon —"

"Besides, Trip — do you really think I could enjoy myself without you?"

Trip looked at him. "I know it's stupid," he began.

"No, it's not," Archer interrupted. "I understand." He smiled at the engineer. "But the Governor tells me that the villa they're giving us is out in the county. We don't have to go anywhere near the city. Not unless you want to."

"You probably think I have a yellow streak running up my back a mile wide," Trip said ruefully.

"What I think," Archer told him, "is that you have been through an extremely traumatic experience. One that had its beginnings here on Argada. And that it's only natural that you'd feel like this."

"Thanks, Jon. I appreciate that."

"So, let's unpack. You know, we could —"

"No."

"No?"

"No. It's like the Argadian governor said. Let's give this place a second chance."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. What the hell."

Trip picked up his bags. "You sure about Porthos?"

Archer smiled. Trip had become very attached to the beagle; an attachment that was enthusiastically reciprocated. "Yeah. Don't worry — Hoshi will take good care of him. She said he'll be very helpful to her."

Trip raised a brow. "Porthos as a guard dog?"

"No," Archer said, laughing. "But you know Hoshi. Always wanting to learn new languages. She says that people of all kinds stop and talk to her whenever Porthos is with her. Makes it easy for her to do her research." Trip still looked doubtful. "Come on, Trip — what are you worried about? You know Hoshi's going to spoil him rotten." When Trip was still silent, Archer added, "Unless you think you're going to need him for protection yourself. And if that's the case, don't worry. You've got me."

"You?"

Archer smiled. "I know you're nervous. So, I'll be there for you. Believe me, I've got a vested interest in keeping you safe."

"Really?"

"You bet. Do you know what a major pain in the ass it would be to train a new chief engineer?"

Trip laughed. "Okay. You've convinced me."

***** 

"You're right," Trip said in a tone of grudging agreement while he looked out of the window. "It is nice place. I'd forgotten." Archer, concentrating on his piloting, was silent. Trip looked over at him. "You okay? Need help?"

Archer shook his head. "No. I'm all right now. Just takes a little while to get used to these controls, that's all."

Trip looked around. "Sweet little ship," he commented. "Think they'd let us keep it?"

"If you asked, they just might," Archer told him.

Trip looked surprised. "You think?"

"Sure. After all, they owe you."

"No they don't. Wasn't the Argadian government's fault."

"I disagree." At Trip's look, Archer clarified. "They should have been one hell of a lot more thorough checking the outgoing traffic from this system. Sloppy security and customs control. Very sloppy."

"Hindsight," Trip shrugged. "Always 20/20."

"Maybe. But at least some good came out of it."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Ever since Arex and Zirella's arrest, they've really cracked down. Cleaned house. Tightened security." He smiled. "Mind you, the fact that the Vulcans brought a lot of pressure to bear helped, too."

"The Vulcans? Didn't think they cared."

"I'm not sure they do," Archer told him. "But I found out that those two," referring to Arex and Zirella, "did quite a brisk business in trafficking Vulcans."

"Vulcans? As pleasure slaves?" At Archer's nod, Trip exhaled, shook his head. "I can't imagine. I mean, for a Vulcan to have to go through that? Must be pretty damn awful."

 _And you ought to know_ , Archer thought. Aloud, he said, "Well, the end result of all of this is, this planet is now a much safer place for visitors. Thanks in part to you."

"No, not me. All I did was get kidnapped. Not terribly heroic."

"I disagree."

Trip smiled, then looked out of the window again. "Where is this villa?"

"On the southern coast. It'll take a while to get there."

"Oh? Taking the scenic route, are we?"

Archer grinned. "Okay. You got me. I just wanted to give you some time to get used to the idea."

"Thanks."

Archer reached over, took his hand. "How you doing? You okay?"

Trip took a breath. "It's weird, being back here. You know?"

"I do indeed. But I'm glad you decided to come anyhow."

"Well," Trip pointed out, "a free villa and a complimentary shuttle. Be hard to say 'no' to that."

"Was that the only reason?"

Trip looked at him. "You know the answer to that."

***** 

Trip stepped out of the shuttle and stared. "Wow."

Archer joined him. "You said a mouthful."

"Then I'll say it again – wow. When they said a villa, I thought it would be — you know — a villa. But this — it's a goddamned palace!"

Trip was right. Palatial was the only word to describe the splendid structure. It sprawled, huge and magnificent, atop a gently sloping hill overlooking the ocean. A tall stone wall surrounded the house, and this in turn was surrounded by groves of fruit trees. Beyond the orchard, rolling forested hills could be seen.

Trip stood, taking in the sandstone pink walls, rows of windows and the massive double front doors. "I wonder how many rooms there are?"

"Lots," was Archer's response.

"You're brilliant," Trip told him. He looked at the house again. "All this — for just the two of us?"

"Yep. They'll be sending someone in on a daily basis with free groceries — and we can request whatever we want by the way — along with clean linens. But that's it."

"Place will be pretty lived-in by the end of the month. Course, if we don't feel like cleaning, we can probably just move from room to room."

"We won't have to clean and we won't have to move. The whole place is automated. Self-cleaning. Domestic robots. All the latest in creature comforts."

"Really?" Trip looked intrigued.

Archer recognized that look, and laughed. "No. You can't take things apart to see how they tick. That would be an abuse of our hosts' hospitality. Plus, this is supposed to be a holiday, remember? You've been working way too hard. You're supposed to take a rest."

Trip sighed. "I suppose you're right."

Archer took pity on him. "I'm sure the planetary database will have blueprints, schematics —that sort of thing. They'll probably be happy to give you any information you want."

Trip brightened. "That's an idea." He looked around, took a deep breath. "Smells sweet. Are those fruit trees out there?"

"Right. And we can help ourselves. There are several different varieties, and I'm assured they're all delicious."

"Maybe we can bring some seedlings back for Chef?"

"Sounds good. But we're on leave now, remember? So let's not worry about ship's business right now, okay?"

"Okay." Trip looked around him once more. "No neighbours?"

"No one but me and thee, old chum," Archer grinned. "Think you can stand it?"

Trip pretended to consider the question. "It's asking a lot, you know. But I guess I can try."

*****

The entrance hall was as magnificent as the outer facade. Sunlight streamed through windows two stories in height and reflected off the polished black marble floor. Rooms were arranged around the perimeter of the building, but the centre was open from foundation to roof, and a spiral staircase wound its way up to the second floor. Terraced pools were set in and under the stairs, and a waterfall, starting from the high ceiling, danced from one pool to the next, sunlight playing on it, causing sparkling reflections on the floor, walls and ceiling.

They walked slowly across, their footsteps echoing in the vast open space. "Place should have come with a map," Trip observed.

"And you call yourself an explorer," Archer replied.

Trip laughed. "Guess we should stow our gear." He looked around. "Where do you think the master bedroom is?"

"Probably on the second floor."

"Oh, well. That narrows it down, genius."

"Behave yourself, brat."

Trip grinned at him, then climbed the stairs. Reaching the second floor, he began walking along the balcony that encircled the centre of the house, opening doors as he went along. "Living room, library, screening room, study ..."

A single set of doors was set into the wall which ran the width of one end of the house. Trip opened them, looked in. "Wow."

Archer came up behind him. "I second that."

The master bedroom ran the width of the house. It was dominated by the biggest bed either of them had ever seen. It was a mammoth wooden four-poster, complete with canopy and silken hangings. It was set against one wall, facing a fireplace where an entire ox could be roasted with ease. Floor-to-ceiling French doors leading out onto the balcony which encircled the outside of the house were at either end of the room.

"Wow," Trip repeated. He walked across the room, his footsteps muffled by the thick, beautifully patterned rug that completely covered the floor. He opened one of the doors set into the wall, revealing a walk-in closet the size of their quarters aboard Enterprise. He peered in, and laughed. "We didn't have to pack," he said, indicating rows of clothing already hanging, neatly pressed and ready to wear.

He stowed his bag and slipped off his shoes, wiggling his bare toes in the carpet, then closed the closet door and turned to find an empty room. "Jon?"

One of the balcony doors was open, and it was through this that Archer returned. "Here I am." He walked over to Trip. "One hell of a view out there."

"Yeah?" Trip started for the balcony, but Archer stopped him. 

"Jon?"

“Trip, do you trust me?”

“What kind of question is that? Of course I do.” He looked at his lover. “What is this all about, Jon?”

Archer looked off into the distance for a moment then back at Trip. “Phlox wants me to try something. I'm not sure about it, but ...”

“Does Phlox think it will help?”

“Yes.”

“Well, then?”

Archer sighed, then went to the closet, came back. He had a shirt in his hand. “Then put this on. Please.” 

Trip held up the shirt. Stared. “It's the same shirt I wore ...”

“... The last time you were here. I know. Trust me?” 

Trip swallowed, but obligingly replaced the shirt he had. “Now what?”

“God, you have lousy taste in shirts,” Archer said, hoping to lighten things. But Trip still looked strained, and his happy mood had vanished.

“Now what, Jon?” He asked again.

Archer didn't answer. Instead, he took Trip in his arms, and kissed him, hard, pushing him up against the wall.

"Jon?" No answer except another kiss.

“What's going on?” He tried to struggle free.

“Don't be scared,” his lover said. “But when you think of this shirt, I want you to think of me making love to you. That, and nothing else.” He kissed Trip again. “I want that to be the only association it has for you.” And he tugged on it. Trip heard the fabric rip.

“I just put it on,” he protested, then hearing the absurdity of what he said, suddenly laughed, understanding what was happening here. Archer looked at him, and Trip nodded. Archer tugged harder, and the shirt was in two pieces on the floor. He kissed Trip again. “More?”

“Yeah,” Trip managed to gasp. “You bet.”

There was the sound of tearing fabric, and the remainder of Trip's pants joined his tattered shirt on the floor. He was now clad only in his briefs, but not for long. Another rip, and he was naked. Archer kissed him deeply, then practically carried him over to the bed and pushed him down on top of it. Trip lay staring up, his heart hammering. Jon had been domineering before, but never quite like this.

Without taking his eyes away from Trip's face, Archer began pulling his own clothes off. His gaze was hungry, deep, searching. When he spoke, his voice was deep, commanding. "Like I said. When I'm through with you, the only thing you're going to remember about that shirt; about this place and about your time here is what we've done with each other." His clothes shed, he lay beside Trip, took him in his arms, kissed him hungrily. "And I promise you—it will be memorable."

He kissed Trip again, then took his sex in hand, began to stroke him. Trip groaned in response. "No time for finesse," Archer told him. "Not this time, anyhow." He gave Trip a feral smile. "That'll be for later." He continued until the younger man was erect. "Over," he ordered. "On your stomach." 

Trip obeyed, and lay, his hands clenching the sheets. Archer ran a teasing finger down his spine, and he trembled. "Get ready," Archer told him calmly. "We're about to make some memories.” Then, teasingly, “Think you can stand it?”

Trip was silent. Archer, still teasing but still dominant, shrugged. "All right. You've been warned." He used the lube, readying himself while continuing to caress Trip. The younger man trembled in response, but did not speak. He made no sound until Archer entered him, and then he whimpered with pleasure.

Archer began thrusting rhythmically, taking Trip's sex in hand and stroking him in time to that rhythm. Trip gripped the pillow, moaned again. "Jon —"

"Patience, brat," was Archer's response. He continued his steady strokes, and Trip cried out. "Yell all you like," Archer told him. "No one's around to hear."

Trip obliged. He cried aloud, and as usual, the sound of his lover's pleasure only served to inflame Archer. He began to move harder, faster, and Trip's cries accelerated in time with these movements. When his orgasm finally thundered through him, he threw his head back and screamed.

But Archer was nowhere near finished with him yet. He continued those movements, and Trip continued crying out as he was being pleasured internally. He gasped. "Jon ...Please... I can't...I can't..."

Archer ignored his pleas. “You can and you will,” he panted, and continued to pound into his lover. And in only a short time, Trip was hard again. He whimpered when Archer began stroking him once more. "Jon," he begged. "Please."

"I told you," Archer panted. He was coming close to the point of no return himself, and was determined that Trip would climax again. He knew Trip was already experiencing intense pleasure from his internal stimulation, but he wanted more for his lover. He tightened his grip, and Trip cried aloud helplessly.

He felt Trip tense, and saw his knuckles whitening as he clenched the pillow. His second climax hit him, and Trip's hips bucked and jerked. These delicious movements triggered Archer's own climax, and now his cries were mingled with Trip's.

He felt Trip shudder and then slowly relax under him. He withdrew, then turned him so they were lying face-to-face. Gently, he cleaned his young lover off, then took him in a possessive embrace and kissed him. Trip returned the kiss, entwined himself around Archer and laid his head on the Captain's shoulder.

Archer continued stroking him, running his hands up and down the slender back in a way he knew Trip liked. He took the firm chin in his hand, raised Trip's head, looked into those blue eyes, and kissed him again.

Trip smiled tiredly. "You owe me a new shirt."

"I'll get you ten."

*****

Archer yawned, blinked, and then as was his usual habit, was clearly and totally awake. "Sleep well?" There was no answer. He looked over to the other side of the bed.

Trip was gone.

His heart seemed to leap into his mouth. He sat up. "Trip?" No answer. He called again, louder this time. "Trip?" Still no response.

Heart beating wildly, he jumped out of bed. "Trip?" Silence. _Don't be stupid_ , he told himself. _He's fine. There's no way... He's probably just having a shower._ He hurried over to the bathroom. "Hey," he said, opening the door, "why didn't you —" He stopped. The bathroom was empty. No one in the shower. Or in the sunken tub.

 _Where the hell are you?_ He was now seriously alarmed and there was no sense denying it. Alarmed, hell — he was scared to death. There were all sorts of security measures in place on the house, but still ... still ... Trip rarely, if ever awoke before he did, and when that did happen, he would usually wake Archer for what he would euphemistically call "quality time".

He went onto the balcony, scanned the landscape. His shoulders sagged with relief.

Trip was wandering along the beach. As Archer watched, he stopped by one of the small tide pools and squatted down beside it, his face alight with curiosity and interest.

Archer took a deep breath, shook his head and smiled ruefully. Apparently Trip, for all his bad memories, was far less nervous than his Captain was. He sighed. Difficult, it was so difficult. He had no wish to smother his young lover; Trip needed his freedom and independence —otherwise he simply would not be Trip.

But Archer was afraid; afraid of losing him. It didn't help matters that he had already endured such a loss. And now, if it happened again when he and Trip were lovers, he didn't think he would be able to bear it. Trip would never know how hard it was for Archer to let him go off on his own. But he knew that he must; he also knew the anxiety he suffered as a result was part of the price he had to pay for loving Trip. And that, he thought, that was worth every second of worry.

Sighing again, he went to the bathroom, showered and shaved. He dressed, then went to the window and looked out again. He smiled. Trip was now sitting by the tide pool, still intently watching the comings and goings of its small inhabitants.

He went down to the huge kitchen. _Chef would kill to have such a workplace_ , he thought with amusement, then set to work. Chef had given him a number of recipes, all for dishes that Trip liked. The engineer had lost weight — yet again — while working on the Tasumi station, and it was Archer's intention to get him back up to fighting trim during their leave. The Captain enjoyed cooking, but was seldom able to do so. Chef was the best in the Fleet, but he was temperamental, and did not take kindly to anyone — even _Enterprise's_ captain — usurping what he considered to be his domain. Well, Archer reflected, he was going to have lots of opportunity here; he had no intention of allowing Trip to do much in the way of work.

It had been a while, so he figured he'd start easy and work his way up from there. Scrambled eggs and bacon, toast, juice and coffee ought to do the trick.

Half an hour later, he looked at the small table set for two with satisfaction. Everything looked and smelled pretty damned good. He set the coffee carafe on the table, then went to the back doors and exited onto the patio.

He walked over to its edge and looked down at the beach where Trip was still sitting by the tide pool. Archer put his fingers in his mouth, and whistled sharply. When Trip looked up, he bellowed, "Come and get it!"

Trip got to his feet, jogged up the hill. "Hey," he said, coming up to Archer, "morning."

"Morning yourself, brat," Archer greeted him. "You're up early. For a change," he added.

Trip grinned. "What can I say? Fresh air — you know the effect it has on me."

"Hmm," Archer said. "And here I thought I'd tired you out but good last night. Obviously, I was mistaken."

"Guess you'll have to try harder," Trip replied, an impudent smile teasing at the corners of his mouth.

For an answer, Archer took him in his arms and kissed him quite thoroughly. When they drew apart, both were breathing more rapidly than usual. "I guess that's a start," Archer drawled.

Trip rolled his eyes. "Can I have breakfast?" he asked. "First?"

*****

"Finish off the toast, Trip."

"Oh, man, Jon — I'm stuffed."

"There's only one piece left, Trip. Don't waste."

Trip rolled his eyes, but took the toast. Archer pushed the condiments towards him. "Jam and honey."

"You want me to put both on?"

"Smart ass," was the bland reply. "You do what you want."

Trip ladled on the jam, took a mouthful. "Good," he mumbled.

Archer refilled his juice glass. "More coffee?"

Trip nodded. He finished his toast and juice and then sipped the coffee. "Not bad." He looked over the rim of his cup at Archer. "I never knew you could cook."

"You're forgetting Alice Springs."

"I don't consider burnt snake meat cooking."

"Yeah? What do you consider it then?"

"A crime against humanity."

"Brat."

"Bastard."

Their respective positions thus confirmed, Trip went back to his original point.

"Seriously. That was a good feed."

"Thanks."

"You know, if you ever decide to leave Starfleet, you could probably have a career as a cook."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"Good. It was meant to be one."

"But don't say anything like that to Chef, okay?"

"Are you kidding? I'd like to keep my skin intact, thank you very much."

Archer grinned, took a sip of coffee, while Trip stretched. "What do you want to do today?" he asked. Catching the look on Archer's face, he added, "Besides that, I mean."

"Whatever you want."

"Really?"

"Really. Whatever you want, Trip. It's up to you."

"Well —" Trip began hesitantly.

"What is it? What would you like to do?"

"Those woods up there."

"You want to go hiking?"

Trip nodded. "But you said —"

Archer laughed. "I can wait, you know." He stood. "Actually, a hike sounds like a good idea. Fresh air, exercise — all good. How about we pack some food and have lunch out in the woods? How does that sound?"

"Sounds good."

"Okay. I'll start putting the food together. You go find the equipment we'll need."

"Think they'll have knapsacks?"

"I'm betting you'll find there's everything we need, right down to and including hiking boots in both our sizes."

*****

Trip leaned back against the broad trunk of the tree, looked up into the clear blue sky. "Sunshine," he said between mouthfuls of his sandwich. "Always nice."

"Hmmm," Archer said in agreement, just as a scolding chatter erupted in the branches above them. "Someone thinks we're trespassing."

"Yeah." Trip dug into his knapsack, brought out a scanner/padd combination, turned it on. The scanner fed in readings to the padd, which in turn had a database of all the local flora and fauna found in the area. The database would analyze the readings, and then set out information on what they were seeing — or hearing. "According to this, it's their equivalent of a squirrel."

He passed the padd across to Archer, who studied the picture displayed there. "Wouldn't look too much out of place on earth, would it?"

"And there he is," Trip said, pointing.

A large, indignant rodent sat on the branch above them, flicking a luxuriant bushy tail in annoyance. It did look like a Terran squirrel — if squirrels were green with brown stripes. "Good camouflage," Trip observed. He broke off a crust from his sandwich, tossed it away. The squirrel chattered indecisively for a moment, then leaped from the branch to an adjoining tree trunk, skittered down, snatched the crust and with another flick of its tail, was gone.

Archer looked at Trip. "You do realize," he said with mock severity, "that Subcommander T'Pol would tell you that such actions disrupt the local ecology, don't you?"

Trip grinned. "I do. That's why I'm glad she's not here." He took a swig of water. "Is she even taking leave?"

"They dragged her off, kicking and screaming, before we left."

Trip laughed again, and the sound of his laughter gave Archer great pleasure. It was good to hear Trip laugh; God knew he had had more than his fair share of pain over the last several months.

A bird sang overhead, and Trip took the viewer slung around his neck and scanned the trees above. "Red, with a black breast," he informed Archer, who obligingly keyed the information into the padd.

Several species came up as a result. "Need more information," he told Trip.

"Ah — black legs, and a black beak. With yellow spots on the beak. Looks like a seed eater."

"You're right." Archer passed the padd over.

"That's the one." And he went back to studying the bird through the viewer.

Archer, in turn, was studying him. Trip became aware of his regard, put the viewer down and arched an inquiring brow. "Sorry," Archer said. "I just never figured you for a bird watcher, that's all."

"I wasn't," Trip admitted. "But on that last planet, when you gave me the viewer and told me to survey the local bird population," he shrugged, "I found it interesting."

"So it wasn't a waste of time."

Trip shook his head. "Although our science officer did tell me my observations were, and I quote, 'overly anthropomorphic'."

"Colour me surprised."

"No kidding. Ah, well — Vulcans. What are you going to do?" He put the viewer down. "We going to sit here all afternoon?"

"Guess not. Want to keep following the stream?"

"Yeah. Let's see where it leads."

*****

Trip stood on the edge of the small, still lake. "You sure?" he asked again, his disappointment evident in his voice.

"See for yourself." Archer handed the scanner/padd over.

Trip read it, sighed. "Guess swimming is out."

"Unless you want to take a chance in getting bit."

"No," Trip shuddered. "Not where these things bite."

"Well," Archer pointed out, "if you want to swim, there's the pool back at the house. It's safer."

"But not as much fun."

"Oh?"

Trip grinned impishly. "There's nothing like skinny dipping on a hot afternoon."

"There's no law that says you can't skinny dip in the pool. Or the ocean."

"Guess that's true. But not today."

"No. But we've got lots of time yet." He looked up at the sky. "Although we should start heading back. We're not equipped to camp out overnight."

"Okay," Trip said equably. He slung his knapsack over his shoulder. "Nice little lake, though. Biters aside, that is."

"We'll come back," Archer promised. "Maybe with a tent next time."

"Sounds good."

*****

"Can I help?"

Archer shook his head. "Too many cooks. I'm fine. But you can set the table."

"Okay." Trip rose. "Dishes?"

Archer pointed. "That cupboard. Everything's there."

Trip complied, and a few minutes later, the kitchen table was set and ready.

"You don't mind eating in the kitchen?" Archer asked. "There is a dining room."

"With a table a mile long. No, I prefer this. Besides, I come from a long line of kitchen eaters."

"Okay." Archer flipped the burger patty. "Almost done. You want to get the condiments out of the fridge?"

"Mustard, relish?"

"Yep. And there's some stuff Chef called 'tomato chutney'. Ketchup with a kick. And don't forget salad dressing."

"Salad dressing?"

"Yeah. There's a salad in the fridge, too. I made it when I was getting our lunches ready."

Trip shook his head. "You never cease to amaze me."

"Likewise."

*****

"Want some more fruit and ice cream?"

"Jon — I'm stuffed. Two burgers, two helpings of salad and two baked potatoes. I'm going to put on a ton if this keeps up."

 _You need to_ , Archer thought, but instead said, "Well, we'll just have to make sure you get enough exercise, then."

"Oh, yeah? How you going to do that?"

"I could chase you around the house a couple of times," Archer offered.

"Tag? And what happens when you catch me?"

Archer grinned. "I guess I'll think of something."

*****

"Another pancake, honey?" Grandma asked.

Trip held out his plate. "They smell good."

"Here you go, baby. Blackberry syrup?"

Before he could answer, a low rumble shook the kitchen. Trip looked around in alarm. "What was that?"

Grandma was unconcerned. "Just Grandpa bowling on the roof again."

And with that, Trip awoke.

He looked around, and for a brief moment wondered if it was still night, as the outside sky was dark, but quickly realized the darkness was due to overhanging storm clouds. He could hear the faint, steady thrum of rain on the roof, and as he looked over, saw lightning forking down, quickly followed by a crash of thunder. He smiled, slightly. When he was a little kid, his Grandmother had told him thunder was just the angels bowling.

Another flash, another crash. He sighed. It looked like he wouldn't be going swimming today after all. Well, he'd just have to find something else to do. He stretched. It was evident Jon was already awake; a fire was crackling merrily in the grate.

"Hey."

It was if his thoughts had summoned his lover; Jon came out of the bathroom, towelling his hair. "Hey," Trip responded. "Morning." He stretched again, and then padded off to the bathroom.

When he emerged, showered, shaved and feeling somewhat more awake, he started towards the bedroom door. Jon's voice halted him: "Looking for breakfast?"

"I was considering it."

Jon grinned. "Then look no further." He picked up a remote, hit a button. A small section of the wall slid up, revealing a hot table, which then rolled forward.

Trip stared. "I thought I smelled pancakes."

"And sausages. And home fries. And juice. And coffee, of course."

"You've been busy. I'm impressed."

Jon shrugged. "I like cooking." He patted the mattress beside him invitingly.

Trip grinned as he headed back to bed. "Well," he drawled as he climbed under the covers, "I like eating."

Jon gave him a light kiss. "So we're a good match."

*****

Trip lay back on the pillows with a contented sigh. "I'm stuffed."

Jon simply smiled, took the bed trays, placed them back on the hot table, and tapped the remote again. Once again the wall opened, and Trip watched as the table disappeared into the cavity. The wall seamlessly closed again, and a very faint hum of machinery could be heard. Trip guessed there was a dumbwaiter in the wall, which would take the automated table back to the kitchen. "I suppose the dish-washing is also automated?"

Jon nodded. "And the kitchen clean-up."

There was a companionable silence for a minute. Then, Jon asked, "What are you going to do today?"

Trip shrugged. "Not sure. I had been planning to go swimming. But not in this weather."

"I wouldn't recommend swimming during a lightning storm, no."

"Thanks for the recommendation," Trip replied dryly. "What about you?"

Jon produced a book padd. "I," he said, "am going to stay in bed and read."

"Really?"

"Really. In this weather? It's the perfect day for it. I've got a comfortable bed, a fire going, and a good book. I'm set."

"Hmm. What are you reading?"

Jon passed the padd over. Trip studied the title; it the latest offering from a critically-acclaimed, best-selling author back on earth. "Where did you get this? I've been dying to read it!"

"Rank hath its privileges, my dear Commander."

"No kidding, my dear Captain." He handed the padd back. "Can I borrow it when you're done?"

"If you want to wait that long." Jon touched a button. "Or we can enjoy it together." Another touch of another button, and the padd began to speak.

"Audio book mode," Jon said. "If you want to listen."

"Sounds good," Trip grinned. "In more ways than one."

Jon put the now-talking book on the bedside table, and lay back. Trip snuggled next to him, laying his head on Jon's shoulder. Jon pulled him into a warm, protective embrace, and Trip sighed happily, and closed his eyes in contentment.

*****

For Trip, the morning passed in a haze of gentle pleasure. While listening to the rounded, modulated tones of the actor reading the book, he lay in Jon's arms, feeling safe and protected, cocooned in Jon's warm embrace. At this particular point in time, he was perfectly happy. Part of that happiness stemmed from the fact that for the first time in what seemed like forever, he felt settled and secure. Lying here with Jon, he didn't have to jump at shadows, and the feel of Jon's arms around him blotted out the memory of other, less welcome touches. Knowing, too, that Jon would do anything for him was also a large factor in this particular equation. Eyes closed, he listened to the story unfold, and enjoyed Jon's touches as he gently caressed his back, and occasionally gave him a light kiss as a bonus.

As the morning wore on, Trip found himself starting to respond a little more enthusiastically to Jon's caresses. Jon began stroking his waist, his hips and sides, and Trip shifted. He could feel himself becoming aroused. He sighed, and Jon kissed him in response.

Still keeping his touch light and gentle, Jon took him in hand, began slowly stroking him. Trip sighed again, with pleasure. The next hour passed in a haze of sensual delight. Jon took his time. By now, Trip had indeed learned patience, and to enjoy the journey as much as the destination. He was enjoying the sensations Jon's skilled touch brought, and was in no hurry to have them stop.

But all good things must end, and this was no exception. Trip moaned as the gentle touches finally culminated in a burst of pleasure.

Jon smiled and kissed him. "Feel good?"

"I do," Trip said drowsily. Jon cleaned him off. "But what about you?"

Jon smiled again. "I'm fine. I just wanted to make you feel good."

"You succeeded."

"I should get up and make us some lunch." And he sat up.

Trip pulled him back down. "No."

"No?"

"Not right now. Just stay here, okay?"

"Whatever you want, Trip. You know that."

"I know."

"You're sure you're not hungry right now?"

Trip tightened his embrace. "Not for food."

Jon grinned. "You are greedy, aren't you?"

*****

"Hey," Trip said as he ambled into the library.

Jon looked up at him. "Hey yourself. Sleep well?"

Trip nodded. "Sure did." He looked out the window. "It's a beautiful morning."

Jon nodded. "Storm blew itself out." He grinned. "Although it was hard to tell the thunder from your snores."

Trip was affronted. "I do not snore. You, on the other hand..."

"Brat."

"Bastard."

"Let me finish this," Jon said, "and I'll make you breakfast."

"Make _us_ breakfast. Okay." He peered over Jon's shoulder. "What's up?"

"Just placing a grocery order."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. Anything you want?"

"No. You're the cook." He read the sidebar running down the screen. "Wow. A whole shopping mall here."

Jon nodded. "Handy, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Trip pointed. "This looks interesting."

"Does, doesn't it?" Jon looked up at him. "But, Trip — the shop. It's in the Old City."

Trip was silent for a moment. Then, "So?"

"Trip?"

"Let's go. Check it out."

Jon stopped what he was doing. He stood, put his hands on Trip's shoulders.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am."

Jon gave him a long, measuring look. It took Trip a second or two to identify the expression on his face: one of admiration. Despite himself, Trip could feel himself blush under Jon's intent gaze. "You know," Jon finally said, "if they handed out medals for sheer guts, you'd have a trunkful."

*****

"So this was the cafe?"

Trip nodded.

"Are you sure about this? There are other places to eat, you know."

"Yeah, I know. But I'm sick and tired of running, Jon."

"I think that once again, you're being too hard on yourself. There's running, and then there's sparing yourself unnecessary grief."

Trip wore a stubborn look. "Maybe. But this is where I want to eat."

*****

"Well," said Jon grudgingly, "at least the food is good."

"Yeah," Trip agreed absently. He was staring at a corner of the cafe.

"Was that where you were sitting?" Jon asked him gently.

Trip nodded. "That's where I was when she," referring to Zirella, "showed up."

"Bitch."

Trip looked up at that, startled, but all he saw was sympathy in Jon's eyes.

Jon took his hand. "You know," he said, "I just realized that I was wrong about something."

"Jonathan Archer? Wrong? Put a mark on the wall."

Jon grinned. "Brat."

"Bastard." He arched an inquiring brow at his lover. "What were you wrong about?"

"Remember when I told you that I couldn't say that what you went through was part of some master plan? Or that something good would come from it?" At Trip's nod, he continued. "Well, I realized that something good did come from it." He gave Trip's hand a light squeeze. "It brought us together."

Trip considered this. "You mean, you don't think it would have happened otherwise?"

"No. But I do think it would have taken us one hell of a lot longer. When you went missing, it forced me to realize just how much you meant to me. I probably would have realized it eventually on my own, but," and he shrugged, "it might have taken me another 10 years."

"We were sort of pussyfooting around the whole subject for some time, weren't we?" Trip agreed.

"Don't get me wrong," Jon told him. "I would have given anything to spare you what you went through. But like I said, at least it did make me realize how I felt." He smiled. "Made me realize that I loved you."

Trip looked at him. "That's the first time you've ever used the 'L' word."

"Just because I haven't said it doesn't mean I don't, you know." He squeezed Trip's hand again. "And in every way you can think of."

Trip smiled. "It's mutual, you know. I mean," and he hesitated, fumbling for words. It was difficult for him to speak like this. Like Jon, he really wasn't into mushy sentiment. He looked into the hazel eyes opposite him, and saw only understanding and acceptance there. _Oh, well — what the hell._ "I mean," he repeated, "I must love you. Otherwise, I wouldn't put up with all your bull."

"I know," Jon grinned. "And I'm grateful."

They shared a smile.

"Well," said Jon briskly, "How about dessert?"

"Like you have to ask?"

*****

Trip stood stock-still. Jon walked a few paces ahead of him, then realizing Trip was no longer by his side, turned and saw him standing still. "Trip?"

"This is it," Trip replied.

Jon came back to him. "Trip?" He asked again.

"This is as far as I got."

He saw that Jon understood. "Before you passed out."

Trip nodded. "I remember seeing that shop window," and he pointed, "and then the next thing, I was on their ship."

Jon nodded, then reached out and took his hand. "You ready to go on?"

Trip smiled. "Yeah. I think I've stood here long enough." He looked at his lover. "I'm looking forward to what's ahead."

"So am I, Trip. So am I."

Jon put a companionable arm around his shoulders, and they walked up the street. Trip did not look back. Not even once.

THE END


End file.
